For the Sake of Nothing
by KLMeri
Summary: He had too much misery in his life to consider adding more. pre-K/S/M. - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Title**: For the Sake of Nothing  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek AOS  
**Pairing**: pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
**Summary**: He had too much misery in his life to consider adding more.

* * *

He had wedged a tiny writing table under the single window in the room, a rickety affair from a nearby thrift shop, whose surface was riddled with grooves by some bored child with a penknife. From that table, elbows braced against its slick top, he looked out over the street, inspected the staggered high-rises of a distant metropolis, and shook his head at the small wares cart idling by a corner to catch customers. On a morning such as this one, with the fog stretched thin like a gossamer web over the neighborhood, he could almost pretend he loved his home.

But Leonard did not.

This one-room apartment—this _hovel_ with its leaky bathroom pipes and crumbling brick-and-mortar walls—was nothing to be proud of. It was a shelter from a cold night or rainy afternoon. It was all he had to his name, and even then not _in _his name since the lease had belonged to a roommate who abandoned him halfway through the year. But the landlord only cared that Leonard fully paid the rent in cash; it mattered to no one but Leonard how he struggled to come up with that rent each month—working two jobs, slowly selling his collection of first edition books (many of them gifts from family members he had loved deeply), going so far as to pick up any forgotten pennies he spotted in the curb gutter.

The truth of the matter was no one was left to care about Leonard. To listen if he complained about the back-breaking work he did, or to say they want to come visit him even if he is far, far away from his roots. To make him laugh, like his father used to do with silly antics which his mother swore was the reason her hair was turning gray. In this world, filled by billions of people, Leonard McCoy was utterly alone.

He was bitter about that.

Picking up a worn pencil, the grim-faced man tried for some time without success to write something that didn't involve gloom and doom and miserable death. Frustrated, he snapped the pencil in two and tossed the pieces at the windowpane. They bounced back to his desktop, tumbled off its side and disappeared. It seemed his muse had deserted him too, like that asshole of a roommate, like his parents and brother in an interstate car pile-up on the way to see his new life in 'the big city', like his _entire _happy existence.

There was a bottle next to his chair, empty, overturned. Leonard rolled it away with his foot in disgust and pushed back his chair. Tucking himself into a coat that had once belonged to his father, he left his apartment and fished a cigarette out of his pocket once he was on the street. A perpetual curl of smoke followed him as he walked south, crossed against a traffic light and snarled back at an impatient driver shouting obscenities, and entered the one place that didn't grate against his nerves.

A door bell jingled as he pushed his way inside. Across the room, a man glanced at Leonard standing on the threshold and somehow radiated disapproval without changing his expression. Leonard realized then the cigarette was still burning down to his fingertips, the smell of it obvious in the clean, fresh air of the coffee shop. He quickly leaned outside, dropped it to the sidewalk and ground it into ash and flattened paper beneath his shoe. Then he ducked back into the shop with a shrug that was meant to be an apology he was too stubborn to voice.

Leonard hadn't been seated in a small two-person booth more than a minute when a mug of hot coffee (one packet of Splenda, no cream) was placed in front of him.

"Jim is not here," the owner of the shop said without inflection.

Leonard snorted and leaned over the mug to enjoy the scent of a dark-roasted brew. He didn't glance up at the man watching him. "I don't come here for Jim."

"...Indeed" was the owner's singular response, notably full of disbelief.

Only when the man turned his back and walked away was Leonard able to look at him. He sipped at the coffee to quell the unusual reaction talking to Spock always caused. He figured the nervousness was standard (everybody who patron-ed this shop felt intimidated by Spock unless they were too stupid to live) but the rest of it—the slight anger, the curiosity, the hint of pleasure—made no sense to him. The owner both repelled and attracted him. It was "Spock's unique talent," Jim had said once.

Now Jim was a completely different creature. He made coffee that would have Leonard voluntarily crawling over broken glass for a cup. But the personality that came with the brew... Spock clearly only kept the annoying kid around because he seduced everybody who came into the coffee house, whether by his excellent barista skills or his ability to flirt with even the fly on the wall, to spend half their bank accounts in a single sitting. Certainly it wasn't Spock's coffee which brought people flocking here (the man was terrible at it and Leonard had had the misfortune of finding that out through first-hand experience) but he was a shrewd businessman, whereas Jim would give away the entire inventory free-of-charge to the downtown homeless shelter if they came by asking for donations.

Between Jim and Spock, this little niche was prosperous and people like Leonard (starving hopeful someday-professional writers) had somewhere to buy cheap, wonderful coffee.

Of course, Jim said Leonard came here to brood. If only Jim knew that half the reason Leonard brooded was because the idiot called him—

"Bones!"

Leonard groaned and hunkered into his seat. _Speak of the Devil and he shall come_, the man thought wryly.

Jim Kirk flipped a hand towel over his shoulder as he came around the side of the store-front counter and made a beeline for Leonard's booth. With a grin, the man plopped down across from him. "You came early! Of course," he added with knowing, which would be arrogance from anyone else, "you were waiting for me."

Leonard rolled his eyes heavenward. When Kirk seemed to be settling himself in, letting one arm drape casually across the back of the booth, Leonard said sharply, "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"Oh, Spock'll mind the store."

"Really? You get paid to waste time by chatting up the customers?"

Jim's blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "I thought that was _exactly_ why I was hired."

"Good Lord," Leonard muttered, letting his natural Southern drawl slip out for a moment.

"Alabama!" Jim crowed suddenly.

"No." Leonard bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling lest he ruin his 'brooding' image. He would never admit he liked this game between them.

Jim thumped his fist against the tabletop and guessed next, "South Carolina."

"Nope."

"_Booones... _Give me a break! I've covered the entire southern region of the United States by now!"

"Jim, obviously you sucked at geography in school. Since when is Idaho a Southern state?"

"But it's the potato state."

Leonard lifted his eyebrows as if to say _and...?_

"Aren't potatoes a southern thing?"

"Jim," Leonard said, struggling not to laugh, "stop yappin' and go do something useful."

Jim rubbed his cheek with his knuckles and gave Leonard a look that generally melted women into puddles of incoherent goo. "Do I have to?"

"Quit teasing me, kid, and scat."

Jim slid out of the booth, saying with a touch of seriousness to his charm, "I'd never tease you, Bones. You can have whatever you want." The lingering look he gave Leonard did not hide his desire at all.

Leonard shuddered slightly, told himself not to imagine the million things he _could _ask of Kirk, and pretended to stare out of a window instead. It was hard not to let Jim win. He might have, too, long before now if—

Spock passed by the table like a wave of frigid air, deftly and wordlessly stealing Leonard's near-empty mug as he went. He would refill it and bring it back, Leonard knew, but only with the regular stuff. Not Jim's house brew, unless Jim could sneak it past Spock or switch out the cups. (The owner usually was too observant for that.)

—if Spock wasn't desperately in love with Jim Kirk.

He had seen it the first time he came here by accident while looking for a place to dry off from a downpour. Leonard was amazed Jim hadn't noticed the way Spock's eyes tracked him, or how perfectly polite (and frightening) the owner was to any customer he thought might seriously catch Jim's interest. Then, of course, Jim had spotted Leonard and taken an immediate liking to him; therefore Spock had taken an immediate dislike to Leonard, which had only slightly mellowed since Leonard had not overtly tried to become involved with Jim.

Sometimes Leonard thought he and Spock might actually understand each other very well when they weren't provoking one another. Jim made Leonard laugh; Spock made Leonard challenge himself. Both of them were able to make him feel lighter, less hopeless, even in the dourest mood.

Hence the problem was rather simple from Leonard's viewpoint: Jim liked Leonard, Spock liked Jim, and Leonard kind of liked them both.

But his life was horrible enough without the complication of a love triangle, so he did what he always did when he had had his fill of good coffee and an atmosphere that didn't want to make him want to put himself out of his misery—he paid his bill and left trouble alone.

Except sometimes, like today, trouble followed him.

"Bones!"

Leonard stopped and turned to look at Jim standing in the doorway of the shop, that earnest, almost too-unguarded expression on his face. People skirted around Leonard on the sidewalk, most of them barely sparing a glance for anything but their own worries.

"See you again?" Jim asked.

Leonard absently rolled an unlit cigarette between his fingers. "Yeah," he said, wishing he was ignorant to the hope in Kirk's voice. "...when I can manage it, kid."

"Great! Bye, Bones." Jim disappeared back into the shop, the door jingling shut.

The tall shadow on the other side of the window was Spock, returning to business.

Leonard sighed, put the cigarette in his mouth, and walked back to his wretched apartment alone.


	2. Part Two

This is the fault of **saintvic** for posting a pic of a despondent Chris Pine at **jim_and_bones**. The drama continues.

* * *

Jim waited. He kept an eye on the entrance, always immediately turning his attention to it the moment someone walked into the shop. But today, it seemed, was not going to be a 'Bones' day. As the afternoon wound down into a quiet evening, and the stream of customers became a trickle, Jim finally let his disappointment color his mood. Even the pretty philosophy student still purposefully loitering at a table along the back wall, sneaking glances at him as she sipped her second mocha latte, depressed him further. Her voice wouldn't be the right cadence; her eyes weren't the right color. She wouldn't call him "kid" or "fool" or "nuisance" and somehow make it sound like an endearment, like a caress.

Jim shivered with that recollection. Then, berating himself for rubbing salt in the wound, he turned the next chair upside down and thunked it down onto the tabletop with temper. The violent sound of it, startling his admirer, brought Spock from the back room of the coffee shop.

Spock stopped just at the corner of the store-front counter next to a rack of expensive teas and skimmed the area with his dark eyes. When they finally came to Kirk, they were questioning. For Spock's sake, Jim gave him a small smile, a reassurance and an apology, and returned to clearing the floor so that he could sweep. They would be closing in less than twenty minutes.

But Spock, always sensitive to how Jim might be feeling, crossed the room to help him.

"I got it," Jim said stubbornly, taking a chair out of the owner's hands. "You pay me to do this," he added for good measure.

Spock merely lifted an eyebrow.

Jim, inexplicably, felt a little better. He moved aside so Spock could lift chairs as well and they wouldn't hinder each other. Soon, with the shop ready for closing procedures—not just sweeping, but scrubbing down sticky tables, replenishing supplies at the service bar, and a myriad of other details that needed to be done nightly—the young student slid out of her booth, albeit slowly like she was giving Jim a chance to change his mind, and tossed the remainder of her latte into the trash bin at the front of the store. Jim received one last, forlorn look.

"Have a good night," he called politely.

She walked out, shoulders slightly slumped and purse clutched to her chest.

Jim went to the kitchen area and retrieved a broom. He began to attack a pile of spilled sugar.

Silence pervaded the building for some minutes until a soft comment floated over to Jim.

"I am surprised you did not accept the offer."

Jim glanced over his shoulder at the owner. "Why are you surprised? Am I that slutty?" he joked.

Spock stiffened, however, and turned to face his employee. "That is not humorous, Jim."

Jim blinked. He could never predict when Spock would take him seriously. Strangely, he liked that about the man.

Now, though, it made their conversation awkward. Jim winced inwardly and reached down to take hold of a dust pan. "Well, thanks for being offended on my behalf, Spock, but you know I don't lie to myself. If it has two legs, I'm liable to consider having sex with it."

A heartbeat of silence. "Is this in reference to the 'farm animals' insult you received this morning?"

Indignant, Jim said, "I just wanted to know her first name!"

"Some individuals," came the dry reply, "will not be susceptible to your charm, Mr. Kirk."

Jim paused in his work to rub at his jaw. "Yeah, tell me about it. Her right cross was pretty decent."

"We are lucky she accepted your apology and waived her right to sue this establishment for sexual harassment."

"It's not like I intentionally touched her breasts, Spock! _I tripped_."

Spock just looked at him. "Please be more careful in the future."

Jim sighed and nodded. While he was trying to reach a cockroach that had expired behind a storage cabinet, he thought about what Spock had said—about individuals being immune to his charm. Was Bones one of those people? Was Jim simply doomed to pine after the man?

He had realized within the first few minutes of meeting Bones (whose real name was Leonard but Jim liked Bones better) that his usual approach wouldn't work. So Jim tried to be subtler, wooing the man with tasty coffee (why did Spock seem averse to that, anyway?) and tailoring his jokes to fit in with Leonard's sarcasm. But at the end of every meeting, Bones just turned his face away and left as another customer. Jim was doing something wrong but he couldn't figure out what it was.

Unless Bones simply wasn't interested in him.

Spock held open a large trash bag while Jim emptied his full dust pan into it. The taller man slowly lowered the bag and asked, rather quietly, "Can I help?"

Jim opened his mouth to say _I'm fine _but didn't. He stood next to Spock and met his gaze. Spock always seemed to understand. That was why they were friends, not just boss and employee. Jim considered himself lucky in that respect. He had worked for some awful people in the past.

"Spock..." Jim sighed again and hesitated over how to phrase his next question. "Do you think... if, hypothetically speaking, we were strangers—" And _damn it_, he didn't want to be strangers with Bones! "—that you'd be willing to go on a date with me?" At the way Spock stared at him, Jim quickly amended, "I mean, don't I seem like a decent guy? I'm not, I'm not..."

What is he not? Or better yet, what is he? To Bones?

His shoulders slumped when the revelation came like a smack in the face. "I really _am _annoying him. Aw, shit." Jim turned away, having answered his own question, and dejectedly dragged the broom after him to the opposite side of the room. "Never mind."

The hand roughly catching his arm was unexpected.

"Is this about Leonard McCoy?" Spock asked in such a way that was almost a demand for the usually calm man.

"Leonard... McCoy?"

"That is the name on his credit card receipt, Leonard McCoy. Your _Bones_," clarified Spock, his face suddenly twitching, as if the nickname itself was to be despised.

"McCoy? That's his last name?" Jim frowned. "But he only paid by credit card once, the first time, months ago. You kept that?"

"I must keep every receipt for my records." But Spock didn't yield his original question, just looked into Jim like he knew everything Jim had never told a soul.

Under that fierce stare, Jim caved. "Yeah, Spock... Yes. It's about McCoy." He tugged against the hand on his arm, a reminder that Spock was still gripping him tightly. Spock let go. "I—you know I like him?"

"Yes."

"Well he doesn't like me back. That's just the way of it." Jim gave his friend a cocky half-smile. "What can I say? You win some, you lose some. It's not a big deal, Spock."

Spock, oddly enough, glanced away. After a moment, he said, "It... matters if you have feelings for this person, Jim. I cannot fathom why he would not see that—and why he would not want you in return."

Jim wrapped his hands around the top of the broom handle and leaned against it. "Thank you, Spock." He took a second to bask in the warm feeling created by the knowledge of Spock's support. "I'll get over it," he said seriously. "I am happy otherwise. I have this great job, and I have you."

Spock nodded slightly, still looking away. Then when he finally met Jim's eyes, Jim knew the time for their heart-to-heart was over.

"I must reconcile today's earnings," Spock said.

Jim gave him a thumbs-up. "You do that, since we both know I can't count past ten!"

Spock's flat look said _that is another joke I am not certain I find funny._

So Jim laughed on behalf of both of them.

* * *

The doorbell rang at ass o'clock in the morning. Leonard wasn't asleep, due to his insomnia, but that didn't mean he had to tell the person on the other side of the door about his miserable sleeping habits.

"Fuck, you had better not be a robber!" he snarled loudly as he drew back the chain lock on his apartment door.

When Leonard opened the door, the man standing in the hallway, hands hidden in the pockets of a long, dark wool coat, replied, "It is unlikely a burglar would ring the doorbell, Mr. McCoy."

Leonard could only gape. "What the—this isn't fucking real!"

"If it is not, then you and I are sharing a very similar dream." The owner of the coffee shop paused. "May I come in?"

"_Spock_," Leonard said, "are you insane? What the hell are you doing here?" A thought struck him. "Did you follow me home? Oh, fuck. Of _course _you're a damned stalker. I should've known by your social ineptitude. Get lost!" he snapped and tried to shut the door.

Despite his tall, thin frame, Spock was strong. He batted the door back open and came right in. "I am not here to frighten you, Leonard. ...Hm, perhaps I should amend that: I am not here to frighten you unless I have to."

Leonard decided it was just Fate's way of saying _screw you _that he couldn't afford phone service and therefore had no means to call the police. "What do you want?" he asked warily. Never let the psycho know you're shitting bricks from fear. Maybe his introductory college class about safe campus life had paid off after all.

"I want," Spock said too softly, his dark eyes fixed steadily on McCoy, "to discuss Jim."

* * *

**TBC?**


	3. Part Three

_"I want to discuss Jim."_

It took a moment for those words to ripen in Leonard's brain; when they finally did, he took the easy way out. "No thanks, let's not."

He thought he could crowd Spock back out the door, but somehow it was Spock, stalking forward in a manner that would have been coupled with a menacing look were he anybody else, who had McCoy scuttling backwards into the room.

"I'm not joking, Spock," Leonard said, amazingly still managing to sound angry. "You have to leave now!"

Spock ignored him. "Jim is enamored of you." His tone of voice said _I certainly cannot see why._

Oh, crap. This is _exactly _what he didn't want to talk about with the dark-haired man. "Look," Leonard began, moving away to find the pack of cigarettes he had stuck between the couch cushions only hours before, "I get it. Jim imagines himself in bed with me, and you're pissed about it." Normally he didn't smoke inside his apartment but tonight was going to have to be the exception. He stuck a fresh cigarette in the corner of his mouth and talked around it while his search expanded to locate his lighter. "If you're planning on throwing me out the window, I hate to disappoint. It's painted shut."

The man moved fast. Leonard made a noise of surprise as Spock plucked the cigarette from his mouth and crushed between two gracefully long fingers.

Leonard could only think to say one thing: "Hey! That was mine, asshole!"

"Smoking is a vile habit," Spock said smoothly, turning away to seek out a place to throw away the now-unusable cigarette. Leonard reached down, while Spock wasn't looking, and covered the remainder of his pack with a pillow.

"You're just set on ruining my entire night, aren't you?" Leonard muttered. He looked towards the single cabinet and sink that sadly served as his kitchen. Next to the sink was a hot plate with a pot of half-eaten ramen. The ramen had gotten cold by now, which was almost a blessing. Leonard had no stomach for it anymore, though it was close to all he could afford. (Unless he gave up his coffee, the one concession he had left to luxury, which was likely to happen when hell froze over.)

He had a fork in the pot but no knife. So much for stabbing Spock.

Suddenly not giving a damn about whatever Spock intended to do, Leonard sat in the chair by his writing desk, put his elbow on the table, and propped his head. If he looked slightly to the left, he could see street lights, like a scattering of dimmed fireflies, for a mile or so. Sometimes he sat here and stared out the window, wishing just once he could see a star in the sky. He used to lie on the back lawn of his childhood home, counting stars, until his younger brother snuck outside to join him. Then Peter would inevitably fall asleep and Leonard would carry the small boy inside. Peter had been a late addition to the McCoy family, one everybody adored.

The smog swallowed the stars in this city. Tears pricked at Leonard's eyes.

He immediately shoved down the grief, because there was nothing worse than showing that intimate hurt to a stranger.

Still, his voice was slightly hoarse when he snapped "Fuck off" at the staring man. Spock continued to stare silently at him. Leonard sat up and ground his back molars. "Are you always this psycho over Jim's crushes?"

"No."

Leonard laughed soundlessly, not believing that denial for a second.

"I have not... become involved in Jim's personal life before now because," Spock clarified slowly, "Jim has not taken an interest in anyone the way he has taken an interest in you."

Oddly, Leonard's heart skipped a beat. "You're making that up."

"I do not lie."

"Bullshit. Everybody lies."

Spock stepped forward. "Do you intentionally seek to provoke me, Mr. McCoy?"

Leonard gripped the side of his wooden chair. "Did you come here looking for a fight?" he countered.

Spock was silent for a long moment. At last, he answered, "I cannot be certain. I thought... It does not matter what I thought. I came here for one purpose." Spock did not draw in a deep breath like most people but Leonard could tell he was working up the courage to say something nonetheless. "I want you to consider Jim's affection—and the possibility of returning it."

Spock could have said he was a Go-Go dancer in his spare time and Leonard would have been less surprised. "Come again?"

Spock paced to the door, hands behind his back. Leonard didn't like the way those hands gripped each other, until the knuckles were bloodless. Spock was only barely managing to restrain himself.

From what? Violence? Leonard knew he didn't want to find out. He asked carefully, "Why would you want me to date Jim if you love him, Spock? I'm not trying to be dense, but I simply don't understand that logic."

"It is not logical," the owner answered, not looking directly at Leonard. "In truth, it is the exact opposite of what I desire. I do not want you to date Jim."

Leonard stood up. "...Now I'm confused. Do you, or don't you?"

Spock faced him. "I do not want you to date Jim, yet nor do I want Jim to be unhappy. At this moment, he is precisely that—unhappy. He misses you. He hurts because of you." That last sentence was said with a hint of darkness.

"Spock," Leonard drawled the name gently and approached the man, hoping what he was about to say might actually sink in. "You can't walk in here and give me the green light. Nothing's so easy as that," he added a bit mournfully.

Spock was still, too still. "Then Jim was correct. You do not want him."

"I didn't say that. I said it's complicated."

"How can it be complicated?" Spock pressed. "Feelings are not—"

"I like Jim," Leonard interrupted. "In fact, I am fairly sure I would enjoy him." He ignored the way Spock's mouth pressed into a thin line at that bold statement. "But there are several reasons why starting a relationship with Jim—with _anybody_—would be a bad thing for me to do right now."

Oddly enough, Spock seemed to relax. "Name them," he told Leonard, as though pros and cons made everything so much simpler. In Leonard's opinion, they only muddled things worse, like laying out personal desires and regrets aside one another to form an embarrassing history.

His face almost colored. "Some of them are very personal reasons, Spock. I can't say I'm comfortable telling a stranger about 'em."

Spock didn't have to say a word. Leonard interpreted his unspoken response well enough: _I am not comfortable here. Why should you be?_

Rubbing tiredly at his face, Leonard went over to the sink to find busy work for his hands. He picked up the pot, and not knowing where else to put it, set it back down on the hot plate. He thought idly that his mother would kill him for keeping so unkempt a house. Then he remembered he would never hear another word from her.

"I can't deal with being close to anybody," he said suddenly, only stopping himself just in time from adding _I'm still sharing room with ghosts in my head. _"I just can't. That wouldn't be fair to Jim. He wouldn't understand that it isn't his fault I am too messed up to have a meaningful relationship." Leonard snuck a glance at Spock's impassive face. "I doubt you'd want me to break his heart."

"I would avenge him if that were the case," Spock replied.

Leonard almost smiled. This guy had it bad for Jim. Suppressing that smile, he continued. "A second reason is that while I'm certain I like Jim back, I don't know how... _solid_ that feeling is." How could it be, when he actually found himself attracted to Jim _and _Spock? "Maybe it's a momentary lust. Maybe it's just curiosity. You have to admit, Jim makes a person wonder what it would be like to even have a second with him. He's so... bright."

"Vibrant."

"Yes!" Leonard turned to look at Spock, glad they understood each other, only to have his stomach drop at the pain etched into Spock's face. Then that pain was quickly masked when Spock realized Leonard recognized it.

Leonard fixed his eyes on a spot over Spock's shoulder. "There's a third reason: I know it would hurt you to see us together. I may be a mean guy sometimes but you, Spock—I'm not gonna hurt you like that. It's just plain cruel."

Silence stretched over the room, not tense but heavy.

"You are not what I expected," Spock said softly.

"Same to you, buddy." Spock came here to give away his chance to be happy with Jim. That took guts—or stupidity of an enormous kind. "So," Leonard said, crossing his arms, belated realizing he was wearing a ratty t-shirt and dirty sweatpants (which was not stellar when compared to Spock's clean, well-cared-for attire), "are we done here?"

Spock blinked at him. "You said there were several reasons."

Leonard couldn't help but lift the corner of his mouth. "There could be. Would you count me being an ornery old bastard?"

"Ornery, perhaps, if the usual temperament I am privy to is any indication of your true personality. Old I doubt, for I believe I am older than you are. 'Bastard' is the only description I cannot judge upon. I know nothing of your parents' marital status."

Leonard pressed a fist to his mouth. Spock had a sense of humor after all, dry though it was. Clearing his throat of the would-be laugh, he dropped his hand back to his side and stole a longing glance at his couch. "I could use a cigarette."

Spock made no move towards the door. "Though I comprehend some of your reasons, Leonard, we have not reached an agreement concerning Jim."

Leonard lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't know we were bartering."

Spock said gravely, "There is still the matter of Jim's feelings."

_What a mess_, Leonard thought. "Jim would seem to be the crux of the problem." Leonard mused for a moment. "Maybe I could put him off? I mean, show up in drag or something..."

For the first time, Spock's eyes shone with amusement. "Then you do not know Jim. He appreciates all forms of beauty—men, women, and men dressed as women."

Leonard laughed without thinking. "Of course he would. I swear, there is nothing worse than what that kid is. And to be honest, I'm not sure there _is _a category for the likes of him."

"Indeed."

They looked at each other for a moment, sharing a silent camaraderie. Then Leonard sobered.

"It's almost dawn. Don't you have a business to run?"

"I do," Spock agreed. He un-clasped his hands and slowly put them into his coat pockets. "Will you come by today?"

Leonard glanced away and caught sight of sunlight drifting up towards the sky. "I guess." He paused. "I'm sorry I made a mess of your life, Spock."

"I am the one responsible, Leonard. I have not had the courage to tell Jim the truth."

"So no lying, just a withholding of the truth."

"Correct."

"That always comes back to bite you in the ass, Spock." Leonard padded barefoot to the door, opened it, and stood awkwardly there. "You should tell him now," he suggested as Spock walked past him into the building's third floor hallway.

"It is too late for that, I fear," the solemn-faced owner said. "Goodbye, Leonard."

"Bye, Spock," Leonard replied, not knowing what else to say.

He closed the door quietly, replaced the chain lock, and stared at it for some time, tracing its lopsided frame and how the door didn't quite fit snugly in the doorway. Such a scant protection from the outside world. One knock would break it down. He had learned that about his heart as well when his family had died.

If Spock thought his own actions were cowardly, he had nothing on McCoy. Leonard couldn't love for the simple fact he was utterly afraid to. Even now, as he ghosted through his life just on the edge of surviving, he couldn't imagine going back to his old self. Who was that person that had planned to finish college? Who had been that happy boy in the old photo album shoved in the far reaches of his closet where he couldn't see it?

It wasn't Leonard, that much he was certain. He had changed, adapted. He was somebody new.

...But not somebody he was entirely certain he liked. This confusion with Jim and Spock had brought that fact to light. Unnerved, Leonard dragged out his pack of cigarettes and smoked them one by one until all he had left were crumbling filters at his feet.

The dawn gave way to a beautiful morning. Leonard couldn't help but think how ugly his existence was by comparison. He dressed for the day and left for work, determined to let trouble lie. He didn't go to the coffee shop as promised because, unlike Spock, Leonard knew how to be a liar.


	4. Part Four

Avoiding the coffee shop was easy; lying awake at night with the knowledge that he could be accosted by an irate Spock on his own territory made things a little less enjoyable. Leonard sighed and turned upon his side, grimacing as one of the couch springs made itself known under his hip. He reached down and retrieved the small square pillow which had tumbled to the floor and tucked it against his chest. Once he had sighed rather noisily for the fifth time, Leonard decided there was no point in pretending to chase sleep. He kicked irritably at the arm of the couch and sat up.

"Fuck it," the man muttered. For a long moment, he pressed his fingers against his aching eyes, until the blackness behind his eyelids turned into a starburst of white, and seriously considered finding the unopened pill bottle he had stuck in the mirror cabinet over his toilet some months ago.

He wasn't getting better.

The doctor—and damn it, probably the grief counselor too, with whom he'd refused to have a meaningful conversation—had been right. He couldn't wait this thing out. At least, his body couldn't. Not anymore.

He dropped his hands from his face and stood up, walked to the window. "I need help," he said. No one replied.

Of course no one replied: he was alone, the world behind the window was asleep (just as he wasn't), and whatever almighty god was part of the cosmos had long since abandoned Leonard the moment that horrible accident happened and Leonard, getting a call from his mother's co-worker, learned he had become an orphan overnight.

Bitterness was a part of him now. For a while he had shed that bitterness wherever he went, in whatever he said, until he learned that people would only tolerate so much crap for so long. So he let his friends walk away; he didn't ask for forgiveness and he didn't bother to excuse himself.

Now he was simply a bitter old man, living a bitter old life and (as if things weren't bad enough) keeping ghosts closer to his heart than real people. Why should it be any surprise his body was physically at the point of breaking down?

In short, Leonard McCoy was a mess.

His foot knocked against the empty bottle he hadn't bothered to throw away. Leonard stooped down and picked it up, contemplatively rolling the cold glass between his hands. It had been a while since he had tried to numb himself with liquor; he was sorely attempted to revisit that dangerous path but Leonard had spent his last dollar on an extra lock for his apartment door. He figured he would need it since he believed firmly in 'once a first-time offender, soon to be a repeater'. Spock knew where he lived, had had the gall to come here, and Leonard didn't doubt the man would find his way back.

...Which would be entirely his own fault. A week had gone by, slipping away again as meaningless minutes and hours, and Leonard had purposefully steered clear of Jim—meaning he had left that mess for Spock to handle. Spock would, despite the advantage it lent him to keep Jim to himself, be pissed. Leonard didn't how he knew that, he just did.

Maybe he should move, he thought.

And maybe the world would start rotating backwards.

Leonard snorted at his own idiocy. He could ill-afford to go anywhere, except perhaps to the street. He was broke. His dinner was a stale peppermint and just a dream of food. What mattered now wasn't fixing the way he had become; it was making certain he could _live_. Otherwise, all else was a moot point.

He truly did have to have help—and sitting here in this dingy, depressing apartment wasn't the way to find that help. Sure, it was a way to hide (which was what Leonard figured he had been doing for long enough) but what happened when he hid so well, he ceased to exist and not a soul knew or cared?

Was that what he truly wanted?

If Leonard was honest with himself, it used to be. Something had changed, though, that made him sit up and take note, even if he couldn't quite figure out what that something was. Certainly he wasn't foolish enough to think someone's school-boy crush was the reason. But perhaps there had been... a moment where he realized his life could be different?

There was no mistaking it: Jim was trouble. Spock, thrown into the mix, was twice as much trouble. Leonard could not, he thought, address the awkward situation between them, but who said that had to be the only interaction the three of them had? Was there a rule that, desperate as he was, he could not seek them out for something as simple as... help?

Suddenly decided, Leonard placed the bottle on his writing table and turned away from the view of the city. The shop didn't open to the public until 6:30 a.m., which was another two hours distant, but Leonard left his apartment anyway. He walked the length of his neighborhood and the one beyond that before turning south and slowly trekking towards the street that might be his only salvation. The world still hadn't woken up yet, except for a few shadows here and there, skirting alleys and pressed inside doorways, wrapped in old blankets against morning's chill. Occasionally a shadow coalesced into a face and called out to Leonard; but most of them saw his haunted countenance and, recognizing it as they would by looking in a mirror, let him pass unmolested.

Twice he circled the city block that harbored the shop, like a hungry dog, until he saw a light come on inside. Then Leonard went to the entrance and stood there, one hand tucked inside the only surviving back pocket of his worn jeans and the other hand fisted at his side. In the dark glass of the shop he could see a frightening face staring back at him. He tried smiling, causing that face to grimace horrendously, so settled for averting his eyes.

Leonard almost panicked when he heard the noise of a heavy bolt-lock turning and saw the door frame shudder. Then the door opened noiselessly to the outside and stayed propped there like an invitation. Before Leonard could throw away his one chance, and let the inexplicable fear scrabbling inside him take hold, he reached out, grasped the door's edge, and swung himself inside.

It was, in actuality, the worst thing he could have done.

* * *

Jim stood behind the counter after he unlocked the door. Having watched the figure skulking outside the coffee shop for some minutes, he thought he ought to call Spock (who would probably berate him for not calling the police first) when the flickering light of an old street lamp slid across a familiar face. Jim realized then the person was actually someone he had given up hope of seeing again. For a minute, he forgot how to breathe... until Leonard McCoy came skirting past the window for the third time.

It was too early, almost five thirty in the morning, for this is visit to be about a cup of coffee. Jim went with his instinct and dug out his keys, only barely remembering to turn off the door alarm. He had just engaged the door stopper when he realized he was on the verge of doing something very, very stupid like bodily attaching himself to McCoy and forever scaring the man away. So he made a quick retreat into the building and now watched, heart in his throat, as Leonard hurried inside.

Upon his first good look at the man in many days, Jim's fingers accidentally flexed too tightly around a coffee filter and crumpled it. He didn't notice.

Leonard, frozen just beyond the open doorway with a near-sunrise lightening the sky at his back, saw Jim and sucked in a sharp breath. He didn't sound good when he said, "_You_."

Jim plastered a smile on his face, returning a genial "Bones."

The brown-haired man's eyes darted to the kitchen door and back again. "But I thought—Spock?"

Suddenly the world was moving as it should. Something elusive crushed Jim's hope. He gave a little shrug and turned slightly to throw away the ruined filter. "Spock's not here. I open for him sometimes," he explained. Bones hadn't come for him. Of course. Hadn't he already convinced himself Leonard didn't want to see him?

McCoy did not seem to know what he wanted to do, like he was caught between two warring reactions.

"We open in an hour," Jim said as he would to any impatient customer.

Leonard's eyes closed.

Seeing the man sway on his feet, Jim abandoned all pretense of indifference and came around the counter. "Bones?" he questioned sharply.

Bones shook his head and took a step back. Then another.

"Don't!" Jim cried, grabbing the man's arm just as McCoy's heel hit the threshold. "I think you need to sit down."

Leonard looked at the hand on his arm for a long moment. "This is a bad idea" was his strange reply.

"Sitting down is not a bad idea," Jim insisted firmly and ushered the man toward a table, reaching out and up-righting a chair with one hand. He shoved Leonard into the chair with his opposite hand. "_Stay._"

Bones lifted world-weary eyes to him and made a half-hearted grunt. "Not a puppy, Jim."

"Then I guess you'll want your water in a glass inside of a bowl." Jim walked away—and smiled as he heard a dark mutter.

Maybe whatever had driven McCoy here wasn't as bad as he initially feared. Though, Jim wondered, why was Bones looking for Spock? Which begged the question: had Spock had contact with McCoy in the last two weeks?

Jim mulled over these things as he filled a mug with tap water but came up with no answers. When he returned to the table, he considered it in a mark in his favor that Bones didn't outright reject the water. Jim decided opening the business could wait for a minute (or five) and sat down next to Leonard. He leaned back in his chair and gave the man time to collect himself.

"Want to tell me about it?" he asked once Leonard began to fiddle with the handle of the mug, turning it this way and that.

Stubborn silence met his question.

Jim added, with a hint of a coaxing smile, "I promise not to gossip."

The ploy did not work. Leonard turned an unreadable gaze on him. "I shouldn't be here."

"If you thought that," Jim said almost idly, "you wouldn't have come in the first place, Bones. Something's eating at you—" He eyed the dark circles under the man's eyes and the sharp slope of those shoulders. "—literally. Maybe I can help."

Bones laughed at him. It wasn't a comforting kind of laugh. "I've been breaking your heart, kid. Why would you want to help me?"

"Who told you that?" Jim snapped, sitting up. He paused to modulate his tone. It didn't matter that Bones thought he was heart-broken—though the assessment was fairly accurate. Instead, he re-directed the conversation. "Never mind. I'm not the problem right now, McCoy—you are."

Leonard's mouth opened then closed. He seemed flummoxed that Jim had used his last name.

Jim took a deep breath to re-orient himself. "Sorry, Bones... I didn't mean it the way it sounded. What I'm saying is, I am not the _concern_."

McCoy lifted the mug and took another swallow of water. "'Problem' is far more truthful," he said.

Jim smiled and replied dryly, "We can talk about that later." Interesting—that subtle flash of nerves which had passed through Leonard's eyes. "Is there something you need from Spock? If so, I can give him a call."

Sighing, the man shook his head. "It was just—a hope, Jim. A stupid one, I now realize." He stood up. "I'll be going. Thanks for the water."

Jim waited until Leonard tried the door, failed to open it, and was beginning to scowl before he jingled the keys in his hand and called out, grinning, "Now that's a bummer!" Jim bounded away from the table and headed for the counter, mug in hand. "Want some more water?"

"Jim!"

Jim checked his watch as he filled the mug again. "I really do have to get this place up and running. There's nothing Spock likes less than failing to be ready for the first customer."

"_Jim_."

The growl was close to his ear. Jim blinked innocently at one of his new favorite people in the world. "Have another drink, Bones, you look peaky. Then, if you want, you can sort out the chairs, fill the creamer containers and stuff."

Leonard just looked at him.

Jim added, "I'm sure Spock will pay you for your time."

"I don't need money," the man answered immediately.

"Everybody needs money," Jim countered wisely. He placed the mug on the counter and went to coax the espresso machines into liveliness. Some minutes later when Jim snuck a glance at McCoy, the man was frowning at the inside of a small refrigerator and a jug of milk.

"2% in the blue pitcher, skim in the red."

Bones spared him a narrow-eyed but considering look before returning to sorting out dairy products.

Jim found himself daydreaming while a machine made contented whirring noises during its self-cleaning process. This was a start, wasn't it? Bones had come back. Granted, not in a fashion where he came barreling in with a bouquet of roses and dropped to one knee to profess his undying love in the middle of busy hour (maybe Jim shouldn't have watched that romantic comedy last night?) but this was something, at least. If Bones was here every day maybe Jim could...

Jim whirled around, excited by his own plan. "Bones!"

McCoy paused in sniffing curiously at a bag of ground Columbian beans. The response that followed was wary. "What?"

Jim resisted the urge to march up to the man and grab his shoulders. "I have good news. You're hired!"

Leonard had an odd expression. "...Isn't that the decision of the owner, not the employee?"

"Oh," Jim grinned, "no worries, you leave Spock to me."

Grimness settled over Leonard's face. "This is serious, Jim. I can't say no, even to a joke. I lost one of my jobs which means I lost a good portion of my income."

"Why?"

"I was fired," he answered bluntly. "I made mistakes. I couldn't toe the line."

Jim sobered. "Were you a problem employee?"

"No." But Leonard hesitated, like he was admitting something he didn't want to. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a while. Kind of made me clumsy at the controls."

A plant worker? Jim knew several of those since there were two mills, paper and metal cans, outside city limits. He hated the thought of Leonard reduced to that day-to-day drudgery. Yet he knew he couldn't give away how eager he was over this fortunate turn of events. "Spock won't like clumsy. How about we keep you from serving people until you're rested?"

"Can't serve people either."

Jim blinked at that strange remark. "Why not?"

"I'm... " Leonard looked pained. "…mean."

Jim choked on his own spit in an effort to keep from laughing. "B-Bones," he said, "oh, Bones. You're perfect!"

"What?"

"We need mean!"

"_Dear god,_" McCoy muttered, "why do I have to get involved with the crazy one?"

Jim tossed his hand towel in the air, much to Leonard's surprise. "This is great!" he said happily. "Wait until I tell Spock!"

But Bones only walked past him, snatching the towel away to wipe up the milk which had spilt on the counter and said, "Yeah, wait and see, kid. Your boss is going to _strangle _you."

Jim, however, was certain he had no reason to fear Spock, least of all over McCoy.


	5. Part Five

**Sorry this is late. Spock was elusive until this morning, whereupon he began a detailed one-sided conversation in my head while I made coffee. Still half-asleep and unprepared, I had to tell him, "yes, yes, I get it, you're ready now but you're gonna have to wait until I am at a computer, mister!" **

**I'm not making that up. Unfortunately. **

**(On another note Jim, sadly, never shuts up. He's been telling me stories all weekend. You'll find one of them in this chapter.)**

* * *

From Leonard's previous vantage point, the coffee shop always seemed busy. But then again, he had only visited as a paying customer during the most common parts of the day when people realized they needed caffeine or they would most likely become non-functional human beings. It turned out, as he perched on a stool in the kitchen, that even a prosperous business like this one had its slow hours. He could hear Jim whistling to himself as he did something or other to keep occupied until customers wandered back inside with the afternoon rush. Spock had come through the door that separated kitchen from store-front about twenty minutes ago and made a beeline for a cramped-looking office off to one side, which Leonard suspected had once been a utility closet. The owner had not acknowledged his new employee as he walked past and Leonard, at the time, had been grateful for the lack of scrutiny.

Now he was a little steadier (maybe thanks to that sandwich Jim had shoved into his hands) and for some unknown reason he had decided he didn't want to be ignored until the moment Spock found a legitimate excuse Jim couldn't argue with to fire him. Never mind that Jim had had a workaround argument for the ten different ways Spock politely insinuated _I am not happy with this arrangement, are you insane? _Apparently somebody wore the pants in Jim and Spock's relationship and it wasn't the person who paid the electric bill. Leonard found that amusing, actually.

Amusing, too, had been Spock's expression when he initially discovered Jim and Leonard arguing over the difference between "shit coffee" and "shit coffee with a hefty price tag" in between Jim filling seven o'clock orders. Leonard discovered a blend hidden in the back of a cabinet that wasn't on the menu, asked about it, and Jim had said he would rather sell un-ground beans out of a flour sack than bad coffee. Leonard pointed out that they might as well shove customers into the street with a boot and a rude middle finger. The business had to make money. Unsold product was wasted expense if left to rot. Besides, people liked brand names, and why was Jim being so stubborn when it wasn't even his damned shop?

Then, of course, Leonard had spied Spock standing off to the side, immediately fumbled in his self-appointed task as money collector and pressed the wrong key on the register, causing it to squeal like a wounded pig, then knocked over the tea stand in his attempt to fix the register (while snarling at it for going haywire in his most vulnerable moment), and thus made possibly the worst first impression as a competent employee. Spock had approached the counter so stiffly he moved like a robot.

Jim lifted a stalling hand before either Spock or McCoy could utter a word and had said to Spock, "Gotta finish this order then I'll explain. Bones, can you hand me a to-go cup? The largest size, please."

Which left Leonard and Spock eyeing each other over a time-bomb of a register. Spock reached out and pressed the Esc button. The register hiccupped and returned to normal. Then as the owner had come around the counter Leonard had had sense enough to relinquish his spot without a fuss.

The rest had been about as pleasant as an ant-bite because Spock ushered out the remaining customers, shut and locked the entrance much to the confusion of the general public, who stood around looking on with uncomprehending faces (and in some cases despair) from the other side of the glass door, and asked Jim very coolly to explain _what the hell was going on _in words as stiff as his back. It took fifteen minutes of Jim blathering on about kinship and poor migrant workers and things that made no sense whatsoever in relation to McCoy until Spock gave up. Or at least (Leonard thought) until Spock decided delaying his business wasn't worth the trouble of one man.

Things had kind of evolved into a stalemate from there, wherein Leonard hung around and did odd jobs (and was he going to get paid for this? he hoped so), Jim pretended Spock wasn't royally pissed, and Spock pretended McCoy did not exist.

Leonard took a last sip of his orange juice (Jim had given him a big glass of that too, and Leonard was beginning to think he had become some sort of new pet project for the kid), set it aside, and stood up. While it was easy to cross the short distance to Spock's office, Leonard hovered at the partially open door. After reminding himself that he had every right to speak his mind, Leonard knocked softly.

For a heartbeat there was silence, perhaps born of indecision or surprise (not that Leonard could be certain of either), before Spock said, "Come in."

Leonard slipped into the office—and immediately confirmed his belief that this was a closet. Since there was a single chair wedged awkwardly in the corner between the desk and wall, Leonard had to navigate through a narrow space, almost climbing over some items, to get to it. Spock was undoubtedly amused as Leonard knocked in his limbs into boxes and assorted junk and sort of tumbled into the chair after stubbing his toe on a tool box.

"Well," McCoy said once he had finally made it, "looks like this is going to be one long visit."

Spock lifted an eyebrow.

"I don't think I can get back out," he explained dryly.

"The space is not ideal for two people," Spock agreed. After a pause he asked, "Is there something you require, Mr. McCoy?"

Leonard tucked his elbows into his sides to keep from making contact with a tall metal rack overflowing with supplies, because contact would inevitable cause things to fall onto his head. "I thought we ought to talk. About my employment, I mean."

Spock folded his hands on his desk, an indication that they were speaking as professionals. "You are correct, of course. Jim's offer was informal and, I hope you understand, not the normal method I employ when seeking to hire an individual. I do require a background check—"

Leonard nodded. Typical protocol to get hired anywhere.

"—and a job reference."

He couldn't help grimacing. "I'll see what I can do."

Spock's expression did not change. "This is not a negotiation."

Leonard slumped a little into his chair. "I know that, Spock—I mean, sir."

Something flickered through Spock's eyes. "...I would prefer you address me by my given name."

Leonard continued, "I don't want to lie to you, sir, um, Spock. I don't have a stellar resume. Hell, I can't even remember the last time I wrote one. I'm..." He forced himself to sound calm. "...just looking for a way to meet my rent. I can promise you I won't steal from you, I won't be late unless I have a damned good reason, and—" He hesitated before finishing softly, "—I'll try my best not to cause any undue turmoil in the workplace."

Spock stared at him for a long minute, as if weighing Leonard's sincere tone against the turmoil already in progress simply because Leonard was present in the establishment. Then he reached for a manila folder and flipped it open, extracting three sheets. "Please fill out this application. You may take it with you and return it tomorrow." He stapled the sheets together and handed them to Leonard.

Leonard's hand didn't quite shake when he accepted the application. He felt like he had just passed a terrifying exam and not even known how terrifying it was until after he laid down his pencil. "Thanks," he said. "Really, Spock, thank you. I know I haven't given you a lot of reason to trust me."

"None," Spock inserted.

"Yeah," Leonard agreed, swallowing hard.

Spock glanced away. "Jim trusts you, however. I can remain patient until I come to trust you as he does."

Leonard sat back, floored. "You mean that."

Spock met his gaze again, this time with a look of mild interest. "Will such an effort be unrewarded?"

"No, sir—er, Spock!—it's just, I'm starting to feel a little bad about what I was thinking..." _That you would play the douche bag and have me thrown out on my ass._

The tilt of the owner's head said _do continue_, as though watching Leonard stick his foot in his mouth was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Leonard flushed under the collar of his shirt. "I meant to say you're going to give me a chance. I didn't expect that."

"'If we do not learn to deal with our neighbors as they are, not as we wish them to be, we will never know peace.'"

Leonard blinked at that bit of wisdom, mainly because he'd never heard it before.

"My father," Spock said, "was the unofficial mediator of his homeowners' association. That is how he responded when I, of a young age, inquired why he felt it necessary to become involved in disputes over property lines and untrimmed hedges when the matter did not concern him directly."

"Your father sounds like a good man."

"He was," Spock said, but in such a way that did not invite further curiosity.

Leonard, understanding what it was like to want to keep some things private, respected that wish. He wrestled himself out of his seat and towards the door. When he banged his kneecap against Spock's desk, immediately following with his elbow, he loudly told the office to go to hell. Managing to half-trip through the doorway, only to have Spock glide out in his wake having nary stirred a paper or bruised a bone, Leonard found himself blinking into the face of wide-eyed Jim Kirk.

Jim, standing very near to the office door, opened his mouth as if to ask something but quickly thought better of saying anything.

Spock looked at the broom in his employee's hand and remarked, "I believe you swept this area this morning, Jim."

Jim leaned against the broom and gave them an innocent look. "I think Bones dropped a bag of sugar on the floor."

"Indeed?"

Leonard sent Jim a death-glare. It was obvious to any fool Jim had been eavesdropping. "Don't you have customers to flirt with?"

"Jim," Spock said smoothly, backing up Leonard's sarcasm with authority, "please return to the front and resume your regular duties."

Jim gave them both a sloppy salute and scuttled out of the kitchen, no doubt pleased as punch to have gotten away without a reprimand. Though, at this point, Leonard wasn't certain if Spock knew what a reprimand was. Either the man had a severe psychosis (like a split personality) or the Spock Leonard had seen freeze unpleasant customers into incoherent ice cubes with a single look was only the mask he wore in public.

This might be more trouble than he anticipated, Leonard thought as he retrieved Jim's broom and cleaned up the sugar on the floor. (Leonard would bet his first paycheck the sugar container didn't upend itself onto the floor until Jim got curious about Leonard's conversation with Spock. That kid was a devil and a half!)

Spock was a likeable guy. In fact, he was _very _likeable. He wasn't letting Leonard keep the job because he was afraid of disappointing Jim; it was because he saw potential in Leonard, regardless of their at-war affection for the same person, and kindly wanted to give Leonard a chance to prove that potential.

Which meant Spock was fair-minded too.

_I can work for him_, Leonard realized. _I could _enjoy_ working for him_.

The blossom of happiness which followed that realization was something Leonard hadn't felt in quite a long time.

"Leonard."

Leonard halted in the motion of moving the broom to and fro, embarrassed that he had failed to realize his boss was still standing there—and that he might have possibly been sweeping sugar onto Spock's polished shoes. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Wasn't paying attention."

Spock was giving him an inscrutable look. "Do you prefer the kitchen?"

"Huh?"

"I cannot help but notice you restrict your activities to this vicinity."

Leonard shook his head slightly. "Jim's idea. He doesn't want me gettin' fired on my first day for punching a customer. Though, personally, I'm of the opinion a right cross is about the only way to get through to some jackasses." He realized belatedly he probably shouldn't have said that to the guy who would be signing his paycheck. Oh god, what an idiot he was!

That inscrutable look did not alter. "You may prove to be as fascinating a hire as Jim Kirk, Mr. McCoy." Spock stepped out of the puddle of sugar around his shoes. "There will be no person or persons to incite your temper after hours. We will begin your training then."

Leonard stood stunned for a second. Then he called to Spock's swiftly retreating back, "I hope you weren't counting Jim in that! I might punch _him!_"

Spock said something much too low to be heard properly beneath the sudden noise of the cafe as the kitchen door opened, but Leonard caught the tail end of Spock's sentence: "..._regrettably be an appropriate lesson for Jim_."

Leonard smiled to himself for the next hour, even as he kicked open the door to Spock's office and determinedly tackled the mess within.

* * *

Four days later and finally feeling like he had a regular schedule, Leonard came to work at the coffee shop and was told he had passed training (Leonard wasn't aware it was a test) and could graduate to bus-boy duties. Spock was, Leonard decided, impressed by his improvement upon the clutter in the office. Two chairs actually fit in there now, though it was still a tight squeeze.

"The great thing about this place is," Jim was saying (chattering, more like, Leonard thought), "no uniforms. Though one time I showed up in yesterday's clothes, and Spock really didn't like that."

Leonard couldn't help but wonder, "Why were you in yesterday's clothes?" Then, at Jim's mischievous look, he knew he shouldn't have asked the question.

All Jim said was, "I had a date. It ran over."

_Or you overslept in somebody else's bed and didn't have time to go home to change clothes before you had to come in to work. _Leonard shook his head and reached into the sink to find another blender part that had become lost below the soapy water.

"Sooo..." Jim began.

Leonard froze. He felt a moment of alarm, suddenly scared Jim was about to pry into something he shouldn't.

"Are you going to quit your second job?"

The question wasn't what Leonard expected. He turned from the sink to frown at Jim. "Why do you ask?"

"Duh, Bones! Because then you can work here full-time." Jim's expression clearly read _Why wouldn't you want to be here with me all day, every day?_

Leonard put his back to Jim again. "This arrangement is working—so far. I don't want to mess up a good thing."

Jim was silent for all of five seconds. "You're really broke, aren't you?"

He almost snapped defensively "Shut up!" but didn't. Instead, it was better to say nothing.

A hand dropped to his shoulder. "Bones," Jim said softly, "I didn't mean anything by that."

"I know you didn't, kid." That bitterness inside him receded a little. "I'll try not to be too sensitive about my finances. Everybody's got money problems. Isn't that what you said?"

"Something like that." Jim leaned against the counter next to him. "I didn't exactly have a problem with money before I came here but I had... employer problems."

Leonard was interested despite himself.

Jim, seeing the interest, took the attention and ran with it. "Let me tell you a story, Bones: the story of how one awesome James Tiberius Kirk became this humble little shop's shining star!"

"Oh god," Leonard said with finality, "I knew I shouldn't have thrown you a bone. Is it too late to say I'm busy, try again later?"

"Much too late." Jim gave him an impish smile. "My last job was pretty good until my supervisor decided to get involved in some not-so-legal activities. He was selling store inventory out the back door. One day he sent me on an errand—in a company van packed top to bottom with merchandise. I thought it was a little fishy because the normal delivery runs were only during store hours but he said he'd had approval from the manager, plus I would get overtime. The customer had to have his order that day, _pronto_. Now I may be a certified genius—"

"You don't say," Leonard interjected in his driest tone.

"—but sometimes even I can be a little dumb."

"You _really _don't say."

"Hush, Bones, I'm storytelling! Turns out the delivery was out-and-out theft. My supervisor didn't even bother to doctor the inventory report which the police said he had done many times before, but I guess he realized he couldn't take that much product and not have somebody notice."

"So you made the drop, and he cut and ran with his share of the exchange."

"Actually I took it to the address, some decrepit old warehouse downtown, and didn't like the looks of the people waiting for me to open up the back of the van. So I kind of... drove away?"

Leonard stared at him. "What are you saying, Jim?"

"That I probably escaped with my life," Jim finished cheerily. "The good part is I didn't get arrested for grand theft. The bad part is the dudes at the warehouse saw my face."

Leonard closed his mouth. "You're pulling my leg. Next you'll be telling me you're part of witness protection."

"Maybe," Jim said with a mysterious smile.

"Jim!" Leonard thumped his fist against the sink's edge in agitation. "I'm not some simpering soccer mom. Get to your point."

"Bones, man, you are _hormonal _like a soccer mom."

Leonard was very, very tempted to flick water in Jim's face. Then he remembered Spock hadn't gone home for the night yet.

"Anyway," Jim continued, "I couldn't keep my job there, not that I wanted to since the manager thought I had been in collusion with my supervisor and was angry he couldn't prove it. So I job-hunted around for a while, but nothing came up that didn't seem like honest work. If it did, the manager told my potential employer I was a cheat and thief and advised them to stay as far away from me as possible." Jim's eyes drifted contemplatively across the shop. "I think he was tailing me. Trying to keep me unemployed or to prove a point. The man could hold a grudge, I'll give him that."

"Sounds like a real asshole."

"Yeah."

"Then everything changed," Jim said, his face lightening from the memory that had momentarily darkened it. "I stopped in here, had a cup of coffee and a pastry, and forgot my wallet."

"Come again?"

"I forgot my wallet," Jim repeated. "Spock was nice enough to let me work for an hour or so to pay off the bill. I guess I looked so pathetic he felt he didn't need to call the cops. I did a good job, he saw that, and hired me when I asked him for a job. The rest is history."

Leonard was, unbeknownst to him, dripping dishwater water onto the floor as he absorbed the abrupt, unusual end to the story. So Jim and Spock had been a happenstance...

"That is not quite correct," interrupted a voice.

Jim's eyes widened, and he grinned sheepishly at Spock. "Hiya! Should I go count the till? Oh wait, I forgot I can't count to ten. Maybe Bones should do that."

"Mr. Kirk is a gambler of sorts," Spock said to Leonard, ignoring Jim's suggestion. "It was my misfortune not to realize this until after the fact."

"Spock, Bones is doing the dishes. He's busy."

"_Jim_," Spock and Leonard said at the same time. Jim miraculously shut up and began to sidle away.

Leonard folded his arms. "So what really happened?"

"Jim deceived me."

"He didn't forget his wallet."

"Precisely. He had, I believe, hidden his wallet in the men's restroom after scouting this shop to his satisfaction. Because Jim is observant, I highly doubt he failed to notice the _Help Wanted _sign on the door before he came in. He then proceeded to eat three pastries, drink two espressos, and consume one cookie. Afterwards, Jim approached me with the convenient explanation that he had no money. I allowed him to pay his debt with chores in lieu of a wage. I shall admit, he sought to impress me and he did. I hired Jim upon his second visit, one day later." Spock's mouth twitched. "I feared, if I did not hire him, he might think of other creative ways to place himself into my employ."

Jim had stopped at the edge of the counter, where he had thoughtfully propped up his head as he listened to Spock's tale. Now he demanded, "How did you know about the wallet?"

"I found it later that evening."

Jim straightened with a gasp. "You found my wallet? Why didn't you give it back! Where is it? Spooock, I had to wait three hours in line at the DMV to get another driver's license!"

Spock's voice held a hint of smugness. "Retaining the wallet was just punishment for your crime."

Leonard nodded. "I agree with Spock. You kept the cash and spent it on a bottle of wine, right?" He grinned at the dark-haired owner. "Finders, keepers and all that."

Spock's eyes mirrored Leonard's amusement. "Jim believes he is wily."

"I noticed."

"Then perhaps I should inform I have acted somewhat duplicitously myself. The motivation behind my lack of protest at your employment, Mr. McCoy, is not born of kindness but of a great need."

Leonard almost groaned, knowing where this was headed. "I'm a waiter-in-training, not a babysitter."

"Beggars cannot be choosers, Leonard."

"I take back every nice thing I said about you. You're an evil man, Spock."

"Is that all I am?" Spock's gaze, for an instance, held Leonard's.

Suddenly there weren't proper words to communicate. Leonard couldn't think to speak. He had a feeling Spock wasn't bothering with thoughts either.

"Hey," Jim said from behind them, breaking the moment, "isn't this great? I knew Spock would like you, Bones!"

Spock slowly, perhaps as slowly as Leonard, refocused on Jim. Then the man blinked and moved away. "I will be in my office. Please inform me when you are ready to leave."

Once the kitchen door swung closed, a breath shuddered out of Leonard. Unbalanced but not knowing why, he leaned against the sink counter and stuck his hands into the water, then immediately wrenched them back out with a sharp oath. The water was cold.

"...Bones. Bones!"

Leonard turned on the hot water tap, saying, "What is it?"

But Jim did not reply, despite his earnest attempts to grab Leonard's attention. When Leonard finally glanced over his shoulder, Kirk was standing very still, watching him.

"Jim?"

Whatever pensive thought had taken hold of Jim let him go at the sound of his name. His face cleared but, still silent, he shook his head as a gesture of _never mind_. Bemused, Leonard returned to scrubbing the blender until it was sparkling clean.

Later, as they were walking out the door together, Jim said rather quietly and without warning, "I think Spock does like you, Bones."

Leonard lifted his eyebrows, replying carelessly, "Why shouldn't he?"

Jim gave him a small smile, a "I don't know" coupled with a half-hearted shrug, and walked away.


	6. Part Six

**This is... I don't know what this is or what happened. My apologies.**

* * *

The depression came back. It always did.

Leonard fell into another routine of sleeplessness, and on this particular night he sat at his writing table with his head pillowed on his arms. Soft noises from the street (passing cars, a low hum of electricity, echoing footsteps of those souls as restless as Leonard) murmured along the outside of the apartment window. The dim glow of the street lights painted his room a dark gold; when they flickered, shadows moved listlessly along the walls.

He stared at a patch of chipped paint, an incongruous dark spot against the lacquered white coating the brick wall. He did not remember if he had peeled the paint off himself in a moment of utter boredom, or if it was merely another sign of the ill-kept conditions of his abode.

In truth, Leonard couldn't bring himself to care. What was worth caring about anyway? He went to work, he came home, he wasted time in between. That was all he could manage. None of it was important.

His stomach, empty, often knotted as well, was an annoyance on the periphery of his awareness. Jim had taken to slipping Leonard bits of food during his shifts; sometimes Leonard had the impression the kid was watching him very closely to make certain he ate it. Like he didn't. The food was sweet, mostly, and contained a lot of carbs but overall had a decent taste. He had never been a stickler about food.

Eating at work seemed normal, a given, an effortless thought. But the moment he stepped onto the street as just another pedestrian, another nameless face, his appetite left him. There were days when he wandered over to a small take-out restaurant and ordered a meal anyway. Other times, he gave into the apathy locking down his system, went straight back to his apartment and dropped onto his couch. Today (or was it yesterday?) had been one of those bad days. The heaviness in him was so solid, almost physically real, that Leonard had imagined he was drowning.

He knew he couldn't expect anyone to save him from this feeling. As if that was possible.

Bitterness had fouled his mood, and now his thoughts. _Get a fucking grip on yourself, Leonard. Pathetic. You're turning yourself into a statistic._

Sometimes berating himself like this helped. Yet it never prevented the thoughts of _I hate this life_, _how do I keep on doing this?_ and _why it'd have to be them? _from returning, rooted so deeply as they were that they sprang back to life like weeds even as he cut them away.

Leonard dragged in a deep breath and lifted his head from his arms. But his limbs weren't going to cooperate as far as standing up so he slumped back into his previous position and brooded.

Life and happiness and all else could go screw itself. He would langour in this in-between world until the clock said he could leave. Then it was back to the coffee house. There, at least, was something that mattered. A job, a thing of importance because two people Leonard did not know very well treated it—_him_—as such.

He wasn't certain why that made a difference, particularly when knowing people cared about him hadn't meant much to him in the past, but he accepted it for what it was.

His mind was too immersed in its own dark landscape to figure out what to do about this newfound knowledge. Leonard's heart, however, hinted at something, an almost trivial thing. _Accept them back_, it might have said if it could.

Not so long ago, Leonard tended to agree with his heart more than his head. He hadn't forgotten that even though he felt those days were gone, so the man finally rose from his place by the window and went to a sagging sink. There, he tried to wash his face clear of tiredness.

The face in the mirror was worn and aged. It was a face he might not have recognized as his if he hadn't been glimpsed it every day in this mirror for the past few months.

"You're a miserable bastard," he told his reflection.

_I know_, it seemed to say. _What are you going to do about it?_

He dropped his washcloth into the sink. "Not a damn thing," Leonard replied, and walked away.

* * *

Jim wasn't a bad soul but he wasn't quite truthful with everyone he met either. Knowing how to keep secrets close and true intentions closer, quieter, was ingrained in him. He had grown up faster than other children his age, had lived hard and rough even before he legally shucked his old life at the age of eighteen. He had never worried about the business of taking care of himself because he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't done it. Certainly no one had ever bothered to do it for him.

As Kirk woke up early and arrived at the shop to open it, he marveled for the umpteenth time that he hadn't left this place behind. The truth was, as Spock had told Leonard one day, Jim did insinuate himself into this little world.

He hadn't planned to stay long. He had not believed a place existed that could hold him—or make him want to stay. Even now, Jim sometimes found himself wondering if he hadn't conjured an illusion, a fantasy, and tricked himself into thinking it was real.

But Spock was real. Very real.

And very... strange. He was the strangest man Jim had ever met. Yet Spock somehow fit seamlessly into Jim's life, had managed to become a part of it without much of a fuss, and Jim honestly did not know if it was possible to take the man back out again.

The circumstances were disturbing but also kind of nice. Spock must have figured out by now that Jim Kirk was more of a con man than a saint, less of an enthusiast and more of a cynic despite the pleasant face he presented to the world. Spock has seen him come in dripping blood from his knuckles or sporting a ring of bruises around his eyes. He had, once, seen Jim smash his fist into a wall in pure, seething rage.

But Spock never blinked, never called Jim trouble. He just accepted Jim as a two-faced man.

So Kirk was still here, flirting with the customers and scrubbing down the appliances at night. He never took money from Spock, and he always remembered to set the alarm before he locked up. The shop was a welcoming place to come back to, and Jim had had so few of those in his life he knew he would be a fool to turn his back on it.

He liked Spock, he truly did. And he thought he had gotten close enough to the man to consider them friends. Jim knew his friends as well as his enemies.

So it surprised him that he didn't know _this _about Spock—this, whatever it was, that had suddenly brought at an interested spark into his friend's eyes.

But Jim did know it was Bones at the center of the change. That, in and of itself, was a problem.

"Jim."

The voice cut into his thoughts, reminding Jim that he had to be careful about how and particularly _when _he revealed his uncertainty. Jim, turning up the corners of his mouth, glanced at his employer before returning to lifting another box of supplies from a shelf and checking its contents. "Morning, Spock."

Spock glided around the steel island counter in the kitchen to observe Jim's movements. "Leonard will be working today."

It wasn't a question but it was, somehow, a hint that the owner wanted Jim's assurance of this fact. So Jim nodded. "He is. Something you want to talk to him about?"

"No." There was a pause. "Should there be a concern?"

"Nope," Jim said affably. He settled the last box back in place and wiped his hands on his jeans. "If you've put the money in the register, I'll unlock the door and turn on the open sign." Jim gave a little wave and wink as he walked toward the door. "See ya. I'll be minding the store."

Spock watched him go, saying not a word in return.

* * *

People liked to think Jim was about as observant as a two-year old hopped up on sugar.

Even a toddler, Jim thought, couldn't miss McCoy. The man oozed _I've got a problem I can't fix _like a homeless man holding a sign on a street corner that says he needs work. At first, Jim thought his assessment was fairly accurate. Bones needed money in a bad way. Jim had seen people throw away their last shred of pride and dignity in order to make a buck. When he was fresh game on the street, newly emancipated from all family, he had known intimately about that kind of desperation.

But the job ought to have alleviated some of that stress for McCoy. Since the man still slunk around like a harbinger of doom, Jim had to re-evaluate his initial assessment. He'd missed something, apparently.

In the few weeks they had worked together in close quarters, Jim realized Leonard existed under some sort of black cloud. For a lot of people, Jim knew, that cloud was bad luck and the result of poverty; but for Leonard, it wasn't quite that. It was... something out of the ordinary and, in that regard, so serious that it dogged Leonard's footsteps no matter the time of day or the place.

He gave the man a sandwich to put a smile on his face. Instead Jim got disinterest and a sarcastic comment.

Bones was a grade A kind of messed up, but it never truly showed unless Bones thought no one was paying attention. Then Jim saw, very clearly, the differences between the act and the real man beneath: the downward droop of shoulders; the tremor of a hand as Bones dragged a thumb across the bruised skin under his eyes; the slow, methodical way the man ate, as if eating was merely a gesture to placate the world's demands. The most notable moments were when that hint of wrongness flared like a torch, especially in the way Leonard's gaze tracked families who came into the shop.

Devastation, a true and terrible devastation, lurked in Leonard's eyes then, and it made Jim's stomach turn.

What was Bones keeping to himself that affected him so? What had created a semblance of a man whose self was devoured from within?

Jim did not know but, being who he was, decided he was going to find out. His interest wasn't morbid or meddling, as it might seem, because it was actually rooted in a part of him he had fought to preserve. His affection wasn't given lightly, not to anyone, not since he had realized at a young age that affection was a weapon in the wrong hands. Since he cared about Leonard McCoy, Jim wanted to help him. And that meant knowing how, which meant knowing _why_.

Except Leonard railed against revealing anything of a personal nature. Jim asked questions, general things most people wouldn't think twice about answering, and Leonard still clammed up like he was under interrogation. Which had the effect of causing Jim to re-double his efforts to learn every single detail he could. He had considered calling up an old partner and cashing in a favor owed to find out.

But there was still time, Jim believed, to bring Leonard around. It wasn't hopeless yet. It wasn't as though Bones had walked out the door.

When Leonard did take that escape route, Jim would follow. Of that he was certain.

Perhaps it was less of a good thing that Jim liked Leonard as more than a friend. Leonard was clearly avoiding him for two reasons: Jim's insatiable curiosity and Jim's not-so-subtle amorous advances.

It irked Jim that he had failed spectacularly to woo McCoy (even if he couldn't seduce secrets out of the man). He knew how to get what he wanted, yet it didn't seem to work. Only now there was Spock to consider. Jim's brain worked furiously to solve that puzzle as well. He came up with a painful solution.

The whistle of the cappuccino machine brought Jim out of his own musing just in time to prevent an overflow of coffee from the cup he was holding in place. Jim set the coffeepot back on its hot plate and reached for a towel, cleaning up the puddle his distracted aim had created on the counter. When he returned to the register, it was with a smile and the customer's completed order.

The young woman, who had a very nice pair of long legs on display in her tiny running shorts, assessed him as she took her coffee. Jim increased the wattage and width of his charming grin. Her lips curved and she leaned forward to ask him a question—or to make an offer.

Not far away, there came a loud snort.

Jim formed a plan in an instant and, with no small amount of glee, stage-whispered to the lovely woman, "He's just jealous you're giving all your attention to me."

She snuck a quick, curious glance at Bones. The unfriendly downturn of Leonard's mouth was his only acknowledgment of her attention.

Jim casually reached out and removed an imaginary piece of lint from the woman's shoulder. She watched his hand raptly.

Leonard, on the other hand, shuffled closer to the counter, a pitcher of water in hand, and said quite pointedly for the whole of the shop to hear, "Is that your phone, Jim? Probably your _girlfriend _calling you. I'm beginning to understand why she's so paranoid."

Jim's would-be date blinked as she processed that information and took a deliberate step away from the counter. After a moment's hesitation she tucked her receipt into her purse and headed for the exit.

"Bones," Jim said, not very peeved at all, "that was mean."

The man shrugged. "Told you I had a problem" was all he said.

Jim's affection for Bones tripled.

He came around the counter, intending to take the pitcher and insist Leonard go on break (despite it being early into the shift) when a new customer walked through the door. Leonard, having recognized the signs of a Jim-intervention (and why was he so opposed to Jim's generous, loving nature anyway?), slid out of reach with the intention of using the newcomer as a buffer. He swiveled toward the entrance—and suddenly turned a shocking white.

For instant, Jim feared for Leonard and leapt towards him.

Bones came alive again at his touch. But instead of leaning into Jim, the dark-haired man twisted away and silently retreated, handing the water pitcher to Jim in lieu of answering his concerned "Bones?" The kitchen door closed with great force in McCoy's wake.

Jim slowly pivoted to face the person who had caused Leonard's abrupt, frightening reaction.

The customer was pale as she approached the counter, but whatever recognition had occured in that moment she and Leonard saw one another was not a secret she intended to divulge. The woman gave Jim a weak smile and asked, "What's good?"

Jim swallowed his questions, summed her up by the style of her dress, the neat trim of her short hair and the worn handle of a purse she had used for too many seasons, and made two suggestions. She chose the most expensive latte with the least amount of calories but agreed, after a moment's hesitation, to the whipped cream topping. So, she was still reeling from seeing Bones. That meant two things to Jim: they knew each other well, and the last parting between them had not been on the best of terms. Nothing else caused that kind of unease between a man and a woman.

Jim made the latte, charged her debit card, and watched her find a seat near the back of the shop at an empty table. He rubbed his fingers together indecisively, then turned to the door. As if Jim's desire had been a telepathic plea, Spock came through the door.

"Spock," Jim said before the owner could utter a word, "I gotta hit the head. Woo the ladies while I'm gone?"

He moved towards the kitchen. Spock shifted to catch his attention which was as good as catching his arm, since Jim knew how to read Spock well. "Is there something wrong?" Jim was asked.

He almost said "Have you seen McCoy?" but shrugged instead. "Maybe. I'll let you know."

Of course Spock would have noticed if Leonard stormed into the kitchen. Jim should have known. He left the register to Spock and pushed through the door.

Bones was not in the kitchen, not in the small back room by the exit or the employee bathroom. Jim found him in the alleyway outside, propped against the wall by a dumpster.

"Not the best place to hang out," Jim remarked as he tucked his hands into his pockets and started along the narrow alley toward McCoy.

Leonard cut his eyes at Jim and took a long pull from the cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled from his mouth when he finally released his breath. "Something you need, kid?"

Jim stopped within an arm's length of the man who intrigued him and, as of now, was beginning to irritate him for being so difficult to reach. It was probably time to be blunt. Jim smiled disarmingly and said, "What's your deal, McCoy?"

Leonard studied his cigarette with a grimace and dropped it to the ground. "Again with the last name. You know, Jim, sometimes I wonder how much of what you say you actually mean."

Jim's temper sharpened, but he refused to allow the subject change. "Who was the woman?"

Leonard pushed away from the wall, his eyes flashing. "What woman?"

"The blonde," Jim said. "You know her, she knows you."

Suddenly Leonard was advancing on him but it wasn't threatening. If Jim had to guess at the motivation behind McCoy's quick movement, he would guess fear.

"Jocelyn talked to you? What did she say?"

Spock was right. Jim was a gambler, and he was good at recognizing opportunity when it came knocking.

Yet still seeing evidence of what must have been an unpleasant shock for McCoy in the pallor of Leonard's face, Jim discovered he did not want to lie. He burrowed his hands deeper into his pockets, saying, "She said nothing, Bones. We didn't talk—though I am going to ask her about you the first chance I get."

The relief which washed through Leonard's face was replaced with surprise and warniness. "Why?"

"Because I don't have a choice. I said once there was something eating at you and," Jim shifted his weight, "that something hasn't gone away."

A muscle in McCoy's jaw flexed. A warning. "That's not your business, Jim."

"It is," he insisted. "I wish you would trust me just a little, Bones."

Leonard shook his head, pitching his voice to a deprecating tone. "Just because you want to get into my pants..."

Jim was fast. His hand came out and planted itself into Leonard's chest, shoving Leonard into the brick wall and boxing him in. "Bones." Jim fought down a flare of anger, knowing he didn't need it to get his point across. He already had Leonard's undivided attention. Jim leaned forward and said again, "Bones. Have I mentioned anything about a quick fuck to you?"

"No."

"No," Jim agreed. "Now why do you think that is?"

Some of Leonard's surprise receded. He lifted an eyebrow. "Because you aren't that stupid?"

Jim laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I'm plenty stupid—and if I wanted in your bed, I'd probably have been there by now."

"You're pretty sure of yourself, kid."

He relented in pressing on McCoy's collarbone and eased back. "This isn't about me wanting to sleep with you, Bones. I like you but we can't be together unless I can be sure of you."

Leonard was looking at Jim like he had grown a second head.

Jim continued more quietly, "It's obvious you need help. Let me help you. Things can get better but not unless you want them to."

Leonard straightened against the wall. "Jim, you're... There's just no word for you! You need to be 'sure of me'? What the hell does that even mean?"

Jim met his gaze without pretense. "It means you aren't the only one with issues. But who cares?" He appraised Leonard and didn't apologize for it. "You're a good guy, Bones. I can see it—and that's the guy I want. Don't you think it's time you stopped running from him?"

Maybe he should have known he pushed too far. Maybe he should have... but the fist to his jaw still took Jim by surprise. He didn't stagger back, didn't drop; Jim knew how to keep on his feet in a fight.

Leonard didn't try to hit him again, but the man was clearly angry. "Fuck you! I'm not running or hiding or any of that psychological bullshit," he snapped, "this is _me_. If you can't accept that, tough. Now get the hell outta my way."

Jim almost didn't move aside but even though he decided to yield (he didn't want to provoke another attack because then he'd have to hit back) he said to the man stalking past him, "You can lie to a lot of people, Bones, but you can't lie to yourself. Who is Leonard McCoy?"

Leonard jerked open the back door to the shop. He seared Jim with a hostile look. "Leonard isn't anybody to you."

Jim closed his eyes at the slam of the door. In that moment, he almost hated Spock for liking McCoy.

But he hated himself more because he couldn't deny the fact things might be better this way. Spock trusted him, treated him as a person, was important to him like nobody else had ever been. Now he simply had to steer McCoy in the right direction...

"Damn," Jim said to the cold morning air and took a long detour back to the front of the shop.


	7. Part Seven

"May I have a cup of water, please?"

Spock nodded slightly and filled a small paper cup. The woman smiled faintly at him as she accepted the water but there was hesitation in her eyes. Spock had more patience than most people so he waited to find out what it was she truly wanted from him.

Eventually the customer leaned forward and asked in a low tone, "Is... Does Leonard McCoy work here?" There was a slight twang to her voice, indicative that she may not have been born here.

"He does."

She slipped the corner of a napkin, ragged on one edge from where it had been torn, across the counter. "Please, could you give this to him?" A phone number in blue ink had smeared slightly across the flimsy paper, as if she had handled it too long in indecision.

"Would it not be wise to provide him with a name as well?" Spock said, his first thought given voice.

Indignation quickly followed by a hint of humor flashed through her eyes. "Len'll know what it means." Seemingly satisfied now that she had completed her mission, the young woman tucked her purse against her side, thanked him, and left the establishment.

Spock had been arrested by the familiar, easy way she said 'Len'. The nickname meant she was already acquainted with McCoy. This was not, then, an attempt by a stranger to woo one of his employees. Spock recalled with bright clarity the many times he had been asked to pass along a phone number to Jim. Unfortunately, those messages had never made it farther than Spock's office trash can. He felt he had a duty, as an employer, to dispose of unwanted attention.

He would be obligated to do the same for Leonard.

Spock picked up the napkin and memorized the phone number by rout. In that moment, as he vacillated over what to do with it, the kitchen door slammed open, startling some customers as it cracked against the outer wall and Spock turned toward the sound, sliding the note into his pocket.

"Mr. McCoy," he said sharply.

Leonard ignored him and scanned the room. But not seeing what—or who—he was looking for, the man pivoted on his heel and strode toward the shop's entrance. Spock came around the counter in time to intersect his employee's path. Something was wrong, that much was apparent. Leonard's waist apron was gone; he had his heavy jacket in hand.

Mentally, Spock made a side note of the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging to McCoy's clothes (as well as a future discussion concerning the serious health consequences of smoking) then focused on what distracted him more: the anger, like a heat, rolling off the man. Leonard skirted around him without a word and walked out. Spock followed him as far as he could without letting go of the door. "_Leonard,_" he said, not raising his voice but infusing it with an unspoken command only a fool would ignore. Several people paused on the sidewalk, afraid he might be talking to them.

McCoy stopped, turned, and simply looked at him. The intensity of his anger was palpable.

"Will you be coming back?"

For a moment, Spock thought he saw the answer he feared on Leonard's face. But that glimpse of hatred, of resolution, was quickly shuttered.

"I'll be back," McCoy told him. "Just not today."

Spock retreated into the shop but lingered by the glass window, watching Leonard until the man disappeared from sight. He would have moved away at that point to resume his duties if Jim, quite unexpectedly, hadn't strolled toward the entrance from the street. He was not smiling, not until he saw Spock, and even when he did smile then—a flash of a grin—Spock knew the action was not motivated by a pleasant feeling.

Once Jim situated himself in front of a coffee-bean grinder Spock said, "Leonard has left for the day."

"Did he?" Jim replied mildly, concentrating on his self-appointed task. "Must of had something important come up. I guess we'll see him tomorrow?"

"We will," Spock confirmed.

A few stray coffee beans scattered across the counter when Jim's hands stuttered in their movement. Jim glanced at Spock, muttering "Sorry", and swept the errant beans into the palm of his hand for disposal.

Spock spoke with deliberate slowness to allow Kirk time to process what he was saying. "If there is an issue—"

"It's fine, Spock," he was interrupted.

Spock gave his employee a long, considering look. "I am not certain I believe you, Jim."

Jim laughed, a laugh low and deep and not at all born of amusement. "C'mon, have I ever lied to you?"

"Yes."

That gaze on him darkened. "So I'm a liar."

"I did not say that, Jim, nor would I label you as such. You do not always tell the truth but you do not lie with consistency. Therefore you do not qualify as a liar... at least, not as I define the word." He observed Jim's reaction, the slight mellowing of temper, and remarked more softly, "I do wish you would remember you may be truthful with me, regardless of circumstance."

There came a sigh, bitten off. "Spock..." But Jim shook his head and mutely returned to filling the grinder with beans.

Spock stepped back, knowing he could not simultaneously pursue the subject of McCoy and convince Jim to speak of what was troubled him. Jim would need time and Spock, reminding himself that he was a patient, courteous person, could grant that time. As the shop's owner returned to the small room which served as storage unit and office, he sincerely hoped Jim's change of heart would not take long. Yet if he considered the level of intimacy he had with Jim, he could not be assured Jim would come to him at all. Since that train of thought was an unpleasant distraction from his work, Spock set it aside.

Only when Spock was engrossed in calculating the balance of the month's inventory did he remember the napkin with the woman's phone number. He removed it from his pants pocket and bookmarked the accounting ledger with it. He would decide what to do with it later. Perhaps, he told himself, after he discovered if that woman had been the person Leonard was seeking before he left.

* * *

Leonard would have headed home or wandered the city until most of his ire wore off, but he suddenly had a burning need to talk to someone. That someone in particular, he hoped, would be where he was headed. The small park was on the west side of the city, set at the center of a group of middle-class neighborhoods. He had dreamed some day that he would be the owner of one of those houses, with a lawn wide enough for children to play on.

The city bus rumbled to a stop. A wave of nostalgia hit Leonard hard as he stepped onto familiar, and old, territory. He lingered by the sign for a few minutes, watching passersby, until he found the courage to keep walking. It was afternoon, so the park was bustling. Leonard didn't ask directions; his feet knew where to take him.

He saw her from a distance and stopped. His heart jumped in his chest. Of course she would be here. She would be feeling unsettled. When that happened, she did one of two things: come here to organize her thoughts (a leftover relic from the days she liked to study in this park) or go to her favorite ice cream parlor two blocks down and order a chocolate sundae.

Leonard would have gone to the parlor next. As it was, it looked like his first guess had been correct. He approached the bench where she was seated from behind. When he was close enough to cast a shadow over it, he remarked, somewhat softly, "You always did like this place."

The woman on the bench froze in the act of digging through her purse and turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Len!"

Hands in his jacket pockets, he skirted around the bench but did not sit down. He didn't know if she would welcome that. "Hello, Jocelyn."

For a long moment they simply looked at one another. Then Jocelyn made room for him on the bench. He accepted the silent invitation, feeling an invisible weight lift from his shoulders. "Thanks."

"You didn't have to come all the way here to see me," Jocelyn said quietly. "You could have called, Len."

He didn't know if she meant he _should _have called her, should have apologized long before now. He had tried to, once. "Couldn't. You changed your number."

"Oh but I—_oh_, never mind," she concluded, as if she had solved a mystery. "Yes, I did change my number."

He dared to glance at her. "Because of me?"

She bit her bottom lip in that way which meant she was contemplating lying. But what she said next he knew was true.

"I was upset, Len... and angry. I thought if I had to hear your voice one more time, I'd say something awful," she confessed.

Leonard snorted lightly. "You'd probably have told me if I so much as uttered your name again, you'd hunt me down, tear my balls off and feed 'em to your mama's pigs."

He shocked a laugh out of her. "Oh, oh my god," the woman said, trying to control herself, "I would have, wouldn't I?" She touched the corner of her eye with a make-believe handkerchief, smiling. "You know it's not my fault. My temper, I mean. It's inherited."

Now he chuckled. "Darling, that's a load of bullhocky if I ever heard it."

She shoved his arm, a gesture from a part of their past that had existed long before they started dating. Suddenly he felt an ache in his heart, not for the lover but for the best friend he had had. Perhaps Jocelyn felt some of that, because she touched the back of his hand gently, saying in a faint voice, "Oh, Len. Can't we...?"

He twisted around to face her. "Joss," he said, repeated. "Joss, I'm sorry. I'm just so fuckin' sorry."

She nodded, eyes full of tears, and hugged him. He could have cried. As he pressed his cheek to her hair, the smell of her shampoo—the lavender kind she loved, always used since high school—comforted him. He had made a bad mistake when he cut ties with her. When he had blamed her.

"Joss," he whispered against her short hair, "what I said—I didn't mean it. I'm so ashamed I even said it. It wasn't your fault. I knew that."

She pulled back slightly. "Len... I know. It's okay."

He let her go but kept talking, unable to stop now that he had a chance to speak of the regret which had haunted him. "I didn't want to hear what you were sayin'. I didn't—I didn't want to talk about it." While he still didn't, he wanted to give Jocelyn some explanation for his behavior.

Her fingers brushed against his cheek, came back wet. "You were hurting, Leonard. You weren't well."

"I was a bastard," he said viciously.

She hesitated, and he felt a slight withdrawal from her. Almost tentatively, Jocelyn asked him, "Did you talk to someone?"

He closed his eyes. So easy to lie. But he couldn't because she hadn't lied to him. "No."

Her silence was the result of her disappointment. Yet when he opened his eyes again to look at her, it wasn't disappointment shining in her face but pity.

Bitterness choked him. "Don't," he said roughly. "Don't do that, Joss. Not you." Even when he had been bombarded by pity on all sides, the townspeople talking about him in hushed voices at the funeral (_oh that poor boy_, _lost his only family, what a tragedy!_, _holidays will be so hard for him_) , she at least had never once shown pity for him.

"Leonard."

He shook his head and wrapped a hand around the bench arm until his knuckles turned white. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me!" Leonard stood up.

"Don't you dare leave!" Jocelyn snapped back. She grabbed his arm to prevent him from walking away.

"Let go."

Her eyes lit with temper when he tried pulling her hand off his arm.

"Leonard Horatio McCoy, if you run away again...! I swear to God, adult or not, I'll kick you right in front of that old couple!"

That gave Leonard pause. He turned to look at the elderly man and woman seated on a park bench a little farther away, who had ceased their conversation in order to watch the young people's antics. Jocelyn gave his limb one warning tug. Wisely, he sat down. She folded her arms, a sign of how pissed she was.

"Well," he drawled, "you certainly never did care about preserving my manhood." His shin already ached from a long-ago memory.

Jocelyn glared at him. "Believe me, I've coddled your manhood more times than I care to count. Now stop acting the fool and listen to me for a minute."

"Yes'am," he murmured.

His ex-girlfriend squared her shoulders. "For one thing, yes I do pity you, Leonard. Stop glaring. You promised to listen, remember?"

He didn't remember promising that.

Jocelyn rolled right over his protest. "But it's not because you're alone in the world, which by the way is your own damned fault."

He paled at that.

She eased some of the sharpness from her tone. "I don't mean the accident. You're alone because you are an idiot. I tried my best to help you, Len, I did. You didn't want my help—and for whatever reason, you didn't want me either."

"That's not true."

"It is," she said solemnly. "I have had time to think about the way things happened. People grieve, Len, and you had more reason than most to grieve." She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it.

He covered her hand with his and, startled, glanced down. Only then did Leonard see something he should have noticed earlier.

"Leonard," Jocelyn called softly, regaining his attention. "Are you still listening?"

The side of his mouth lifted faintly. "Wouldn't dare not to."

"They say anger is one of the stages of grief."

Leonard looked away.

"I think you were stuck in that stage, and I think," she continued, worrying her lip again, "you knew it. You also knew you were hurting me."

He said nothing.

"You aren't a vain man, Leonard McCoy, except on one account. You never want anybody to see you out of control. I guess, looking back, I shouldn't have been surprised you were pushing me away. For what it's worth," she added, "I'm sorry I gave up on you."

"You didn't," Leonard replied with a sigh. "I left, remember?"

"And I let you go. You drove the knife in pretty deep when you said if I hadn't convinced you to go to the same college as me, they—" She took a deep breath. "—they wouldn't have been on that highway that day. Don't you think I had accused myself of the same thing at one point?" Jocelyn fingered her purse strap with one hand, an old habit that meant she wasn't sure of herself.

"Oh god, Joss," he said with sincerity. "Please forgive me for that. I never believed it, not for a second."

"Forgiven," she said with a half-hearted smile, then tucked away her vulnerability again. "So you see it's as much my fault as yours." She squeezed his hand and said quickly, "Let's just agree to disagree, okay?"

They sat in silence for a moment. Leonard broke it by saying, "You didn't get to the part about _why _you really pity me."

Her chin lifted slightly in warning. "I pity you because you've gotten so mule-headed you're wasting your life."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I know you quit school. Your mother," she said, leaning forward, "God rest her soul, would have beaten you black and blue for that."

"No she wouldn't've!" he argued.

"Oh, Leonard," Jocelyn said, shaking her head in mock sadness, "the things you don't know about women could fill a book."

Leonard glared. "Mama never hurt a fly."

"_Mama _also never saved her pennies for eighteen years so a fly could go to college," she retorted. "You remember how proud she was on your first day."

His ears burned at the memory. "She made Dad drive her from their hotel to campus at seven o'clock in the morning so she could walk me to my first class. Jesus, was I ever embarrassed!"

Jocelyn's eyes were tear-bright and her mouth stretched with restrained laughter. "I loved your mother. You know... I told her once when we had kids, we would name our daughter after her."

"Joanne," Leonard said, not quite certain how to address the fact Jocelyn had been discussing procreation with his mother.

She corrected sweetly, "Joanna, actually. Your mother said it would be close enough but still different so that she and Joanna wouldn't answer the same summons when we called."

He laughed without meaning to. His mother would have said _exactly _that. By the time his laughter had died down, Jocelyn was wiping at her eyes again. "Joss?" he questioned, alarmed.

"It's nothing. I just—it's good to hear you laughing."

He brushed his thumb over the fingers wrapped around his and asked the question that had been scalding the back of his throat since he looked down. "Are you, I mean, who is...?"

She saved him from the painful fumbling. "I'm engaged."

Leonard nodded.

Jocelyn studied him for a moment. "Does that upset you?"

He thought about it. "I guess... not? I am kind of upset, but only because I don't even know who it is." He frowned. "Is that weird?"

"Well I was hoping you wouldn't say," she deepened her voice in a funny imitation of Leonard's, "'_if I can't have you, no one can!_'"

"Yeah-huh," he remarked dryly, "'cause I'm absolutely creepy like that."

They grinned at each other.

Leonard sobered first. "Is he at least as good-looking as me?"

Jocelyn smacked his arm. "Oh shut up. Clay's not only handsomer but he's also a ton of things you aren't!" She ticked off her fingers as she listed those things. "He's rich..."

"Ouch," Leonard said. "I'm offended for all the poor guys in this country that you're so shallow."

She ignored him. "...smart..."

"Are you saying I'm not smart?"

"Dumb as a brick. Oh, and he's a _med student_."

Leonard clutched at his abdomen. "Oh, right in the guts, Joss! Your grandmother always said you should marry a doctor. What a great disappointment I was on that score!"

"You," she began pointedly, "would be a published author by now if _you _were smart."

"And rich too," he added. "Tuition at State has gone up about 3% every year." He regretted that sentence the moment it left his mouth.

Jocelyn pounced, eyes alight. "You've been keeping track? When do you go back?"

"Whoa!" He raised a hand to stall the flood of questions. "I never said I was, Joss. I—" He grimaced. "—don't think I am."

"Stand up," the woman demanded.

"Why?"

"Because I _am _going to kick you!"

He scooted to the end of the bench, which wasn't far. "Now wait..."

"Ugh! Mule-headed, stupid _male_. You haven't got the sense God gave a goat! You know what? On behalf of your mama, your daddy, AND your sweet little brother who thought you created the Earth, GET YOUR ASS BACK TO SCHOOL!"

"Are you finished? People are staring." In fact, Leonard noted sourly, the elderly couple had doubled into two elderly couples, a kid eating an ice cream cone, and a small, brown dog.

She crossed her arms again. "I still want to kick you."

"Sorry, sweetheart, you'd have to catch me first."

"Like I have time, I—oh!" She looked at her wristwatch. "Oh damn! Leonard..." Jocelyn dug her hands into her purse, hesitating.

"You have somewhere to be," he finished for her.

She nodded.

He stood up, but at a safe distance just in case she did decide to kick him. One never knew with Jocelyn and Leonard had known her for _years_. "Get going then." Now it was his turn to hesitate. "Can we... see each other again?" He flushed. "I mean, I want to meet him, this Clay guy. Give 'im the McCoy seal of approval."

"I'd like that, Leonard. Call me, okay?"

"You changed your number, remember?" he pointed out.

"Oh, that's right, you probably didn't get it. I left a note with the guy behind the register at the coffee shop."

Suddenly, Leonard's thoughts clouded over at the reminder of what he had left behind. _Jim. _Of course. Jim probably threw it away, the asshole.

Eyeing him warily, no doubt because of his mood change, she said, "Here, give me your hand." She wrote a phone number across his palm with a pen she had unearthed from her purse.

"Thanks," Leonard said.

Jocelyn smiled at him, came forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Goodbye, Leonard."

He caught her hand before she got too far away and pulled her into a tight hug. "Bye," he said into her hair, almost afraid that this reconciliation wasn't as real as it seemed.

Jocelyn hugged him back, which was answer enough that she had missed him too.


	8. Part Eight

**And… cut to Act Two. I had no intention of returning so soon. The characters thought otherwise.**

* * *

On a Tuesday Jim dropped a line rather carelessly to the wrong person. That person, though she was beautiful and clearly appreciative of his charm, had a boyfriend. Standing behind her.

As the guy surged over the counter and snagged the front of Jim's shirt to haul him within fist-in-the-face range, Jim's hands automatically went up in a gesture of _calm down, buddy! I was just paying a compliment to the lady. _In case the boyfriend was as dumb as he looked, Jim said the words aloud too, with fervor.

In return he got a derisive laugh. "Scared of me, _buddy_?" the big man snarled in Jim's face.

Obviously he did not see the sudden, dark glint in Jim's eyes. "Just trying to do the right thing, man," Jim said. "People don't come here to see a cockfight and blood all over the floor."

The guy snorted. "Yeah, you're scared, you little shit." He shoved Jim away and grabbed his girlfriend's arm, refocusing his anger. "You fucking look at him again..." he began to threaten her.

Jim would have let it go; he really would have. Spock had a distinct "no brawling in the workplace" policy. And what did this meathead's insults mean anyway? But the way that guy dug bruises into the young woman's arm, how he sneered at her, and the quick, almost resigned look of fear in her eyes before she tried to hide it?

Yeah. There was no way in _hell _Jim wasn't going to turn a blind eye to that. He jumped over the counter and, smiling wickedly, gave the man's broad shoulder a forceful shove. "You know what, asshole? Fuck you."

Mean Guy turned on him, letting go of the girlfriend. "What'd you say?"

Jim dodged the swipe at him and backed towards the front door to the shop, cajoling, "I think you're the one who's scared. That explains why you pick on women."

The man snorted like a bull; his face was reminiscent of one too. Jim barked out a laugh with the perfect mocking tone. Roaring in outrage, the guy took the bait and came after him. Kirk swung through the door, ignoring the way some people were rising in their seats to see what was happening. Once he had the guy on the street and in close range, he didn't wait for the first punch. The man's head whipped backwards, but the blow didn't deter Jim's opponent for long. The fight was slow at first, with them testing each other's agility and strength; then it turned vicious.

The guy wasn't as dumb as he looked—or he was a professional boxer. A quick kidney shot immediately followed by a clip to his jaw put Jim on the ground. He rolled onto his side and spit blood out of his mouth. The guy hauled him up by his shirt. Jim, who knew how to fight dirty, stomped on the man's foot and staggered on his own feet for only a brief second when he was free of the hold. Then he launched himself forward, intent on breaking the man's teeth since he'd already broken the man's nose. He missed and clipped the guy's cheekbone instead. For Jim's efforts, Mean Guy battered on his ribs until one of them snapped.

The girlfriend had been standing to the side, screaming at her boyfriend to stop since the fight began. Distantly, as Jim hit the ground, he heard a siren. Well, if he was going to jail, he wasn't going as a loser. Kirk kicked out, using up the rest of his adrenaline rush, and knocked the guy's feet from under him. At that point he would have sat on the guy's chest and beat that face until it was unrecognizable but somehow the guy flipped them and Jim ended up under a steady succession of blows.

The girlfriend was really screaming now, probably because of all the blood. Some older man tried to intervene and drag Mean Guy off of Jim but without success. Jim was pretty certain he was going to die, if only because nobody would be able to put his face back together again, when suddenly the man sitting on his chest was being lifted away. A second later, Mean Guy was face down on the pavement, gurgling. Spock had a knee in his back.

Jim blinked with his one good eye. "Spock?" That came out as a slur.

Shit, was he missing teeth?

Jim groaned and lifted himself on his elbows.

"Jim," his boss said in a very frightening tone (and wow, how was the guy's arm even attached with Spock twisting it like that?), "do not try to sit up."

He checked his front teeth and was grateful they were still there. "M-m a'ight," he managed, though his arms wobbled when he lifted himself up. Wow, why was the ground moving? Oh, that wasn't the ground, that was him. Spock was moving him somewhere. A curb?

Jim's eye widened. "Spock, w-what, yer not go'ng...?" _To toss me into traffic? _he didn't finish.

Funny, Spock looked annoyed. Or furious. It was kind of hard to tell. Jim didn't doubt if Spock was angry enough to throw Jim in front of a car, he would. He'd probably ruined the reputation of the business or something. People would say Spock hired thugs.

It turned out, Spock was putting him on the curb because the siren belonged to an ambulance, not a police car. He would have preferred the police. This was embarrassing, with a woman holding his head still with her latex-gloved hand while she shined a pen light in his eyes and asked him stupid questions.

Did he hurt anywhere?

Gee, no. He was Captain America. Punches bounced off him like jelly beans.

"Jim," someone was saying—oh, it was Spock, with his dark eyes glaring at Jim over the EMT's shoulder.

"Wassup?" He hiccupped. The hiccup tasted of blood. Maybe that was bad? Jim focused on something that mattered more. "Coulda won," he told Spock.

Spock didn't answer that. Instead he was saying something strange about regretting being unable to go with Jim. Jim tried to snort, ask _go where?_, but realized his nose was broken. He and Mean Guy were a matched pair then.

At that thought, he pulled away from the EMT, un-interested in her protests, to find out what happened to the other guy. A hand planted itself against his shoulder to force him flat onto the gurney.

Jim sighed. "You're no fun, Spock. Where's Mean Guy?"

Spock's eyebrows angled into a frown. He asked the medical tech, "Does he have a concussion?"

"It's too early to tell but from the look of him," here her once-over said _what kind of idiot are you anyway, fighting a guy twice your weight and size? _"I would think it's a definite possibility."

Jim had practiced his sheepish look as much as his innocent look. Unfortunately, from the way Spock and the EMT were looking at him, the contortion of his face probably resembled a lunatic's rather than a contrite man's. The blood wasn't helping, he figured.

"Sir, if you will step back..." The EMT made a shooing motion at Spock.

Jim turned his head to apologize to Spock. "Sorry about the—"

He stopped short because it finally clicked in his brain what was happening. They were putting him _into _the ambulance. Not just keeping him close-by to look at his face and tell him to take some ibuprofen.

An ambulance ride meant a hospital.

Jim panicked. He tried to sit up but couldn't. There were straps.

"Fuck!" he snapped.

"Sir, don't move," the EMT advised, alarmed by his squirming.

"Fuck," he said again. "I'm not going to the hospital!"

She looked taken aback then grim. "I recommend the hospital, Sir. Your ribs are broken. Your head is possibly injured."

"No," Jim said, and tugged against the straps again.

Reluctantly, she reached out to undo them. Spock tried to intervene, saying, "Jim, you must go to the hospital."

Jim sat up, intending to climb off the gurney now that he had been freed. But Spock moved in so close, Jim was boxed in.

"You will go to the hospital."

Jim met Spock's eyes. "No, I won't." The EMT had a clipboard in her hand, but she didn't offer Jim the form to decline the ambulance service because she was looking between Kirk and Spock like they were a species unknown to her.

"That was not a request, Mr. Kirk," Spock replied.

Jim's fingers dug into the side of the gurney. "Unfortunately for you, Spock, you have no _authority _to command me." He took the clipboard from the EMT, uncapped the ballpoint pen and signed his name without reading it. Dropping the clipboard to the gurney, he stood up, not caring if he ended up flush against Spock or falling sideways to the ground.

Neither happened. Spock stepped backwards as if touching Jim was the last thing he wanted to do. He said over Jim's head to the EMT, "I will see to him from here. Thank you for your assistance."

She may have muttered, "Good luck."

Jim hobbled away from the ambulance as fast as he could. Spock, still pissed, took a hold of his elbow. When his boss steered him away from the shop, Jim said sharply, "Where are we going?"

"You," the taller man answered flatly, "will sit in my car. I will close the shop."

"I said I'm not going to the hospital!" Jim snapped. Did Spock not understand he was serious when he told the ambulance people to take a hike?

Spock frog-marched him to a dark-gray car. Jim had seen it parked on the street before but never, for some odd reason, connected it with Spock's arrivals and departures. He almost touched it before he realized he might sully its shiny waxed gleam with fingerprints. "Is this an import?" he wanted to know, incredulous because it must have cost more money than he could make in five years.

Spock opened the car door silently.

Jim looked pained at the tan leather then down at his dirty, bloody self. He wanted confirmation from Spock. "You aren't taking me to the hospital."

Something unusual flickered through the shop owner's eyes. "No."

Jim relaxed (or maybe that was his adrenaline flagging all of a sudden) and eased himself into the passenger's side. "Okay, Spock. I trust you."

Spock shut the door and walked away.

Jim made good use of his time by poking at his sore spots and whimpering. He found a packet of Kleenexes and stuffed two up his nose since it was still trickling blood. By the time Spock came back, Jim was slumped against the door and fervently wishing for morphine. He fixed his good eye on Spock as the man started the car.

"So where're we going?"

"It is obvious I cannot persuade you with common sense to take care of your injuries," Spock said stiffly, somewhat coolly.

"I'll heal. I always do." He gently touched his nose, thinking, _Except maybe with a crooked nose this time. Crap._

Spock ignored him. "Therefore I must find someone who can."

Fifteen minutes later (and several suppressed groans from Jim as Spock hit every pothole on the way to their destination) they parked in front of a sad, ugly brick building. Spock went inside, Jim fiddled with the Kleenex sticking out of his nose and wondered if he should admit he had trouble breathing (or if that would be very, very bad to mention to Spock), and one or two people wandering by stopped to stare at his swollen, bruise-mottled face. A little girl with pigtails asked her mother, "Is he dying?"

The mother hurried her daughter across the street.

Jim should have known something was up but he couldn't think beyond his pain or the fact that Spock had pulled some kind of awesome ninja move on Mean Guy _and he had missed it _while he was drooling cross-eyed on the ground. Who knew Spock could fight?

So when Spock came out of the building with somebody in tow, Jim was not prepared. Then again, neither was Spock's companion.

McCoy and Kirk looked at each other, separated only by the glass of the car window, and respectively said, "_Fuck_."

Spock handed his car keys to Leonard. "Jim, Leonard will take you to the hospital. My promise is not broken." And with that announcement, Spock situated himself in the backseat of his own car and looked expectant.

Jim had never felt Spock was capable of deception until now. Yet, strangely enough, that lent Spock a brand-new appeal—though apparently not for McCoy. Leonard said darkly as he got behind the wheel of the car, "I'm going to get you for this, Spock."

"I will be amendable to discussing your grievances with my person after Jim has had medical attention. Now please focus on the road, Mr. McCoy, and take care to avoid an accident. One disabled employee is quite enough." Thereafter, Spock said no more.


	9. Part Nine

**This makes three posts in a row, so please be certain you have read the two prior parts!**

* * *

"Jim..." came the growl, "get out of the car."

Jim continued to stare straight ahead. "Did he tell you I refused the ambulance?"

"Spock said there was a friend who needed to go to the hospital and he couldn't drive him. He asked me to do it." Leonard ground his teeth for a moment. "If I had known that person was you..."

"Yeah, I get it," Jim said too sharply.

Leonard tried very hard to be objective. "Look, just do what your boss wants."

"No."

Screw objectivity. Leonard slammed his hands against the steering wheel and turned to glare at Jim. "What kind of fucking idiot are you anyway?! You're bleeding all over his car and Spock STILL cares more about saving your life than his damned upholstery! You're being a jackass, Jim—and to somebody who _doesn't _deserve it!"

"He has no right to force me to do this!" Jim shouted back.

"Yes he does! He lo—" Leonard caught himself in time before he let Spock's secret slip. He turned his face away and said gruffly to his driver-side window, "Spock cares about you, Jim. That should be enough. _More_than enough," he emphasized, daring to sneak another glance at the fuming Kirk.

But Jim wasn't fuming, or at least he didn't seem to be. It was difficult to tell with Kirk's face puffed up to the size of a bowling ball. Leonard shook his head slightly, saying not for the first time since he'd seen Jim, "You look like shit, kid."

Jim deflated slightly. He prodded at his knuckles. "I feel like shit."

Leonard would have pointed out, "Then why are you still sitting here, dumbass, when the hospital entrance is ten feet away?" but he saw the hospital's ER double doors slide open. Spock came out pushing a wheelchair.

This was going to go badly, he could tell. "It's your body, Jim, and your choice," Leonard said. "I'm not gonna disagree with you on that. But if you're going to be cruel to your friend, you'll have to do it without me." He opened the car door and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. "I'll be around the corner." He spied a sign that said no smoking within hundred feet of the facilities. "...Or somewhere," he muttered and set off across the medical campus.

Where the heck he could light a cigarette and not have hospital security breathing down his neck? He needed to smoke. He really did. He was too worked up—which was, of course, Spock's fault. Leonard should have known Spock knocking on his apartment door during what should be business hours wasn't a good thing. But he'd only thought about the way he had left the coffee shop, without an explanation to the guy who paid generously for a part-time gig, and that he shouldn't have done it. It must be, he had thought, a godsend for Spock to even deign to see him after such thoughtless behavior.

Instead it was a trick.

_Hypocrite. You can't blame Spock when you're no better than him._

He felt bad about the lying most of all, though he had tried to convince himself he didn't really lie. Surely he was only waiting for a sufficient amount of time to pass before he went back to work. Yet a day turned into three days, then four. It was easier to stay away than to face Jim and act like he didn't give a shit about anything Jim had said. The truth was, Jim might not have been the person he wanted to hear those words from but weren't they the same words Jocelyn had spoken before they had the fight that broke off their relationship? Seeing Jocelyn again had brought that to mind.

Maybe he has been a fool, twice over.

The issue wasn't that Jim liked him. It never had been. The issue was Leonard himself. He was not, as Jim said so aptly, the "good guy" he had once been, even if Jim believed that person still existed. He was disappointing Jim by not fighting for the "good guy". Hell, he might be disappointing himself.

Leonard didn't quite know.

When did his life become so convoluted? And why now, of all times, did that seem to matter?

Leonard smiled wryly as he strode down the sidewalk. _At least I've got my common sense today. More 'n I can say for some people!_

The someone in particular he was thinking about was probably breaking Spock's heart right now. Leonard stilled and considered that, suddenly feeling uneasy.

Maybe he shouldn't have left Spock?

...No. Spock was tough, that much was apparent. The man could stand up for himself.

Leonard put one foot forward, hesitated. "Oh, damn it!" He spun on his heel and marched back the way he had come.

Spock wasn't tough. He was probably like putty in Jim's hands because he had a soft spot for the guy. There was a good reason Spock had chosen Leonard after all, and it wasn't simply to drive the car. He needed Leonard to help him stand up to Jim Kirk.

Cursing under his breath, he rounded the corner of the building that brought him back to the circle driveway in front of the ER—and saw nothing. The car was gone. Leonard stared at the empty spot where he had parked; that sent him hurrying towards the hospital's entrance. There was no sign of Jim or Spock in the waiting area. Leonard approached the reception desk and a nurse behind the glass looked at him with disinterest over the rim of her glasses.

"Can I help you?"

"I need to find somebody. Guy just came in here," he motioned to his own face, "probably looked like he stuck his head in a blender."

Her gaze traveled pointedly to the large waiting area. "Hon, a lot of those people don't look good."

"He's not one of 'em. I checked."

"Name?"

He told her. She slowly hen-pecked out J-I-M on the keyboard. Leonard gritted his teeth but held the leash on his temper.

"Sorry, hon. No Jim."

"Maybe you should try Kirk." Stupid nurse, the last name should've been the _first _thing she looked for! He wanted to say that badly. Then again, she was the only person he could see in Reception. Just his luck.

"Kirk. With a C or a K?"

"K. K-I-R-K."

She hen-pecked that into the medical records system.

"Damara?"

"_Jim_."

"Tim?"

Oh god. A receptionist with a serious hearing problem and the memory retention of a goldfish. Leonard stole a pen from a clipboard and wrote on the back of a pamphlet about heart disease in bold letters, JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK. JIM KIRK.

She _hmm_ed in disapproval when he returned the stolen pen, then inspected the name he had scribbled down.

"Was he in a wheelchair?"

Leonard straightened. "Yes!"

She nodded to herself. "Charming fellow."

He looked at her askance. Charming... with Jim's face looking like it had been a chew toy for a hungry tiger?

"Betty wheeled him to an exam room." She narrowed her eyes. "Come to think of it, that girl should've been back here by now."

"What's the room number?"

But the nurse (Mrs. Myrtle May, if her name tag was to be believed) ignored him and pressed a button on her phone. "Page Betty," she said sharply to the person on the other end of the line. "Tell her not to loiter. We're understaffed up here!"

"Ma'am," Leonard said, trying to catch her attention, "the number of the room..."

She typed something into her computer, much more quickly than her previous hen-pecking. "Sir," she said without looking at him, "you are not injured, otherwise you'd be moaning on the floor and begging for a doctor. Now, unless you're family of Mr. Kirk—which I doubt, hon, seeing as he checked the _deceased _column for every relative on his form—I can't let you go wandering in the back. There are rules."

Leonard had pressed his mouth into a thin line as she spoke. Her tone irritated him and his reply came out rather hot. "You can't—"

"Myrtle, I'm so sorry!" A young blonde bounded up to the front desk, talking right over Leonard in her excitement. Her face was pleasantly flushed. "Jim needed helping out of his clothes..." She trailed off at Myrtle's no-nonsense expression.

"There are other staff members to help _Mr. Kirk_," the older nurse chastised. "Your duties do not include dallying with the male patients!"

"But he..." The girl quieted into a pout. Then she caught sight of McCoy and brightened. "Oh, hello there. Can I help you?"

"He's already been helped," Myrtle declared.

"I want to see Jim Kirk," Leonard said, ignoring the old biddy the way she had ignored him.

"Oh!" Betty said happily, "You must be the boyfriend!"

Leonard immediately began shaking his head in the negative.

"Jim doesn't have family. He told me so," Betty went on to say, giving a little sigh. Leonard wasn't even certain what that sigh meant. "But he did say his boyfriend would ask to see him and he granted his permission for the visit!"

Myrtle May frowned severely. "_Granted _his permission?"

Leonard didn't know if laughing would get him thrown out. He said somewhat sweetly, trying to take a page from Jim's book, "I would sure love to see Jim now… I've been so worried."

Myrtle narrowed her eyes at his obviously fake distress. Betty however nodded sympathetically, as if she couldn't imagine not being worried over Jim.

"Excuse me," a familiar voice interjected smoothly. "I wish to visit Mr. Jim Kirk also."

Leonard turned around. "Spock! Where'd you come from?"

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "The parking garage. It is illegal to park in an emergency zone, Leonard."

The young nurse's eyes had grown as wide as quarters. Betty looked between them and said tentatively, "...I'm confused. Which one of you is the boyfriend?"

Leonard conceded "He is" at the same time Spock said, not missing a beat, "We both are."

Betty's face reddened. Myrtle muttered, "Dear lord" and put a hand to her temple.

Leonard couldn't have spoken a word if he wanted to. Everything that came out of his mouth turned into a painfully embarrassing noise. If Jim were here, he thought, the kid would be so pleased with himself. Causing a scene even when he was half-dead. The idiot.

Spock quietly cleared his throat to end the awkward moment. "May we see Jim?"

Betty nodded. Myrtle rolled her eyes heavenward and turned her back on them all. The faint sound of her muttering was probably a prayer for their souls.

Leonard lengthened his stride to match Spock's and asked in a low tone, so Betty wouldn't overhear, "Are you crazy?"

"There is nothing amiss with my mental health, Leonard," Spock replied. After a pause, at which Spock snuck a glance at Leonard, he asked, "Was my solution not... efficient?"

"It's crazy, which is why I asked if you're _crazy_! Good god, man, do you really think people'll believe Jim has _two _boyfriends?" Paranoid, Leonard kept scanning the hallway for a lurking guard. Myrtle didn't protest their claim, which was strange enough, but that didn't mean she had no plans to call security on them.

Spock and McCoy pivoted around a corridor's corner in sync and kept walking. Spock clasped his hands behind his back and remarked to Leonard, albeit with an equal awareness of Betty's proximity, "I must admit some surprise that you have acknowledged Jim. Your communication with him earlier seemed... strained."

"Just because I'm caught up in this mess, doesn't mean I want him to die from blood loss or infection, Spock." _And I had to make certain y'all hadn't left me behind, _he didn't add. "I was just going to see if he was comfortable."

"I see."

Leonard snorted. "Seems that was unnecessary on my part, since Jim's well enough to seduce the nurses into taking his clothes off." He winced at his poor choice of words. "Sorry, didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"You have not upset me."

Leonard's look was sharp, questioning, as he absorbed Spock's calm countenance. "You aren't upset, are you, Spock? It doesn't bother you how Jim is, given your feelings for him?"

"Why should I want Jim to change his nature," Spock said as they slowed, finally reaching their destination, "when it is that nature which initially attracted me to him?"

"But you feel jealousy."

"Only for those who receive from Jim what I do not."

Leonard lingered a few feet from the closed door to Jim's room. Spock did as well. Betty, if she was nearby, was forgotten.

"Like me," he said to Spock.

There came another pause. "I am not certain I am jealous of you, Leonard."

Leonard could make no sense of that. He almost asked, out of sheer confusion, "How can that be?"

"I do not know," Spock said in a soft undertone, though Leonard's question had not been voiced.

Betty was pushing open the door to Jim's room after a token tap of her knuckle against it. "Jim? Jim! I brought you _two _boyfriends!"

Leonard, upon hearing her giggle, despaired of the medical community in this town. He motioned for Spock to go first. "I'm gonna wait a minute, just to deflate his ego a little."

That amused Spock for some reason.

"Spock, hey!" Jim's voice rang through the doorway. He sounded a little wobbly, which was probably because the staff had doped him to the gills with pain medication. "Waait, w-where's the... you said I get another boyfriend!"

Leonard smirked to himself and leaned against the wall beside the open door.

Then Jim loosed a nasally holler. "BONES!"

Betty poked her head around the doorframe. "Bones? Oh, there you are! C'mon on now, Mr. Bones, Jim wants you!"

Leonard would have rolled his eyes had he been given the time, but the giggly nurse happened to be very strong and very determined. She dragged him inside, and Leonard spent the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out what it was about Jim Kirk that made people strive to give him everything he wanted.

* * *

As soon as Spock stepped out of the room to retrieve the cup of water Jim had requested, Jim's smile dropped away. He closed his eyes and said, "I really hate hospitals."

"Who doesn't?"

The murmur belonged to the man situated in the corner of the room, as far away as he could go to put distance between them without leaving the room, Jim suspected. Bones disliked him that much.

Silence invaded the space between them. Jim shifted restlessly on the bed; though he was sitting up to increase his airflow, his position did nothing to relieve him of the pain in his ribs. The morphine shot, while succeeding in making him dizzy, barely touched it.

"Anything you need?" McCoy asked him, no doubt seeing how uncomfortable he was.

"A time jump into the future?" he joked half-heartedly.

"Sorry, kid, not my specialty."

Jim released a soft sigh and, eyes still closed, fingered the cotton blankets beneath his hands.

"Jim..."

Damn, here it came. This really wasn't the perfect time to talk about the unsettled business between them.

"Why'd you give in?"

Jim opened his eyes in surprise. He looked at Leonard. "What?" Bones' expression wasn't very readable. Jim opted for a lie, just to see what would happen. "I decided to follow Spock's advice." He would have shrugged if it didn't hurt.

The side of McCoy's mouth quirked. "No, you didn't. You're sitting there hating every second of this. "

"I am," Jim agreed.

"So why?"

"Because you were right, Bones." Jim let his eyes track to the door, left partially open by Spock so the nurses could hear Jim if he called for assistance. "Bringing me here means something to Spock—even if I can't agree with him about it."

"He just wants you to be okay."

Was that gentle voice really McCoy's?

Jim swallowed against a feeling that was making his choice so much harder. "Do you?"

Silence again.

"Never mind. I don't want the answer to that," Jim said. "It's these drugs. No filter." Crap, even that chuckle hurt. Why did he fight a neanderthal? He'd have had better chances with a man-sized lizard.

"Jim?"

"Hrgh." He meant _what?_

A hand touched his, tucked it under the blanket. "You're really something, kid."

Some time later, another voice, with a touch of alarm, whispered over Jim's head. "Is he all right?"

"I think he needs a nap. He's not going anywhere, Spock. At least, not for the night."

"I had planned to stay."

"I figured as much. But you haven't eaten, right? There's a place nearby, if you like Chinese."

_Chinese_, Jim murmured. Moo gai pan. And egg rolls. Yum.

"Yes, Jim. Egg rolls for you when you wake up. C'mon, Spock." Then that voice, McCoy's rough-but-gentle voice, said something so faintly near his ear, he could barely keep a hold of it before it drifted away.

Jim zoned out for a long while. When he came to, it was to the distant sound of a door. There was silence, but in the silence the feeling of a presence. Spock's, he identified without opening his eyes. Jim could tell the lights had been lowered in his room. Spock was probably sleeping then. Best to remain quiet, let the man rest.

He kept his eyes closed and tried hard to recall the last thing he heard. Bones saying a sentence, a small thing... It took him some time to collect all of the words, maybe an hour as he dozed on and off, but when he had them, he did not want to let them go.

_I want you to be okay too, Jim, _Bones had said.

It made things wonderful again... but also complicated. Jim honestly did not know what to do.

* * *

**Any ideas on what Jim can do? :D**


	10. Part Ten

Leonard lifted up another gift basket (this time with a balloon heart and a sappy message attached) and wiped down the tabletop. When he glanced up, Jim had his third (or fifth or tenth, depending on how many Kirk had eaten while Leonard wasn't paying attention) chocolate truffle halfway to his mouth. Plunking the basket back in its spot, he said with mild ire, "I'm not cleaning up your vomit if you make yourself sick, Jim."

Jim plopped the truffle in his mouth and made an exaggerated face of how good it tasted. Once the treat had been swallowed, Kirk proceeded to lick his fingers and say, "You're just jealous."

Leonard turned away with a ceiling-ward roll of his eyes. That was precisely it: he was jealous of all the googly eyes the customers have been making at Jim, jealous of their simpering condolences of Jim's injuries and their fawning over Jim's bravery. And he was especially jealous of those stupid "get well" baskets the local florists kept showing up with.

Truth be told, Leonard simply didn't get it. Why were so many people encouraging Jim's idiocy? The stupid fool shouldn't have gotten in a brawl in the first place!

He muttered as much as he returned to the register and stabbed a button to open the cash drawer. Unfortunately, he and the register had a long-standing feud and it began to squeal at his rough treatment. There wasn't anything he could do to shut it up. Leonard was considering pushing it over the counter's edge (while steadily ignoring Jim's unhelpful 'hit the yellow key, Bones!'—there were _dozens _of worn yellow keys) when a hand sneaked over his shoulder and silenced the machine.

Leonard stared at the register's keypad. "How come that worked for you? Damn it, I just hit that button!"

"Leonard," Spock replied, "please do not destroy the cash register before closing time."

Maybe it was Spock's mild, low tone or the way he spoke right next to Leonard's ear, but whatever the reason, Leonard reacted with a shiver. By clearing his throat, he hoped to remind Spock that their proximity was anything but professional—at least it would seem that way to the people staring at them.

Spock shifted but did not move back. Leonard, wondering why his body was having a mild panic attack, blurted out, "Now that you're out here, you might as well stay. I'm going on break." He slid to the side. Spock, thank God, did not follow him.

He heard from over his shoulder as he strode to the kitchen door, "Jim, I highly doubt it is necessary to consume all of your commiserative offerings within the hour."

"I'm in pain, Spock!" Jim almost whined. "I need comfort food!"

A pause. Then Spock replied, "Very well."

Leonard smirked to himself as he walked into the kitchen and veered towards the employee bathroom. Jim really did have Spock wrapped around his little finger. The poor bastard.

He supposed he had to give Spock some credit. The man had put his foot down when Jim insisted he could work a regular shift despite three fractured ribs. Instead, with Leonard and Spock against him, Jim ended up at his own private table by the window, where they told him he had to stay if he wasn't going to go home and sleep through the first few days of his injury.

Of course, neither Spock nor Leonard had counted on all of the people flocking into the cafe to see if Jim was still alive and kicking. It seemed to have surprised Kirk too, though Leonard hadn't had but a moment to glimpse the reaction on Jim's face. Leave it to Jim to turn a public scene into a publicity stunt.

Leonard, if he thought about it, knew he had reason to thank Kirk as well. This entire "Jim is injured and Spock needs help because he can't babysit a Kirk and run a business at the same time" situation allowed Leonard to slip back into his old role without much fuss or explanation. Thus far, Spock seemed content not to address the matter of Leonard's irresponsibility. Leonard figured he should bring it up so he could apologize, yet he also hesitated to break the relative peace between them.

It was amazing, when he considered their different personalities, that they were getting along so well. They hadn't argued since the trip to the hospital. In fact, they almost... _coexisted_.

That was Jim's doing, however inadvertent. It was easier to work together to look after Jim (well, Spock looked after Jim; Leonard felt it was his job to remind Spock that Jim did not require a 24/7 mother-hen). Spock no longer seemed preoccupied with the attention that Jim paid to Leonard, and thus Leonard was not preoccupied with apprehension about how Jim was treating him in comparison to Spock. They had settled into a kind of balance. A truce, McCoy liked to think of it. When Jim was recovered, conceivably things would fall apart again. He suspected that was inevitable, if only because Jim was bound to circle back around to a subject Leonard hated most—himself.

_Don't borrow trouble_, he told himself firmly. Pausing at the bathroom door, Leonard looked over his shoulder and considered the empty kitchen and the murmur of chatting customers through the wall. A thought came unbidden. _Strange, that I missed this._

He frowned. Then, with a shake of his head, Leonard placed that revelation aside and gave his attention to other needs.

* * *

Jim was less lively after Leonard left. Concerned, Spock approached Kirk's table and asked him, "Are you well?"

Jim lifted his head and smiled, though his expression was wan. "Just my meds, I think." He gingerly touched his stomach. "Maybe I shouldn't have eaten the cookies."

Spock was of the opinion Jim shouldn't have eaten the cookies, the bonbons, the homemade pound cake, _or _that tin of English biscuits. "Are you nauseous?"

Jim made a pained face and slowly eased out of his chair. "I wasn't until you mentioned the word, Spock. Thanks."

Alarmed now, Spock reached out to steady the man. "Please allow me to take you home, Jim," he insisted for the umpteenth time. "You cannot rest here."

"Won't be able to rest at home either," Jim murmured and headed for the bathroom at a slow limping pace.

"I have offered you the use of my house."

"I'm not crashing at your house."

Jim's tone was remarkably stubborn. Spock wished he had leverage to change Jim's mind but he knew he did not. Silently, he lent the man his arm for balance. But Jim moved away, marginally increasing his pace, a clear sign he did not want to be helped.

Spock trailed after him as far as the kitchen door. Jim reminded him at the point, "You shouldn't leave the money unattended." Spock returned to stand behind the counter and remained there, ill-at-ease.

An older woman approached the communal trash bin by the door; yet rather than leaving the establishment she turned toward the counter with a congenial smile and said, "It's hard, isn't it? Taking care of a sick loved one when that loved one doesn't want to admit he needs help."

Spock thought about correcting her assumption of 'loved one' but found himself nodding slightly instead.

"My husband was the same way, god rest his soul. He broke his leg once, jumping off a runaway tractor."

Spock lifted his eyebrow, interested.

"We were young, newly married. The doctor said Ben had to limit his movements to the bedroom and bathroom for three weeks."

"He did not," Spock surmised.

Her smile widened. "The man was a fool without me. I came back from a church function and found him out in the barn, penned like a hog in a ditch. Lord knows how he'd gotten himself out there! I'll never forget," she said wistfully, "how shamed my husband was when, after blessing him out, I made him sit in that wheelbarrow. It was the only way I could get him back in the house." Her misty eyes cleared of memory. "Marriage is certainly an education, let me tell you, for all parties involved."

He refrained from mentioning he and Jim could not legally be married in the state they currently resided in.

"Want some advice?" she asked.

"Advice would be welcome."

"If you let that young man be a fool once and a while, it'll keep him from forgetting why he's lucky to have you."

"What if he acts so foolishly, I am unable to help him?"

"Well what if he had a stroke tomorrow, like my Ben? There are some things, when they're meant to happen, no amount of diligence can prevent. But don't worry," she added kindly, "if that young man loves you, he won't be so foolish he can't come home again."

Spock understood her point but nevertheless found himself thinking that what she perceived to be true was in fact not a truth. Jim did not love him the way her husband had undoubtedly loved her. But appreciative of her good intentions, he walked with the customer to the door and held it open for her. "Thank you for your words," he said.

She patted his arm comfortingly. "You're still worrying, my dear, but you shouldn't. Some men are slow to recognize a good thing but that one'll figure it out soon enough. They both will."

She left Spock just inside the doorway. He stayed there for some time, very still with contemplation, until a middle-aged man in a business suit opened the door and strode purposefully for the front counter.

"How may I help you?" the coffee shop owner asked, returning to his position at the register.

The man did not relay his order. Instead he opened his wallet and said, "I'm looking for Leonard McCoy." To Spock, he handed a business card.

Spock placed it gently on the counter, his attention focused on the word _Esquire_.

"I've been told he works here," the lawyer said.

Spock met the man's eyes. "What is the nature of your business with my employee?"

"Personal, I'm afraid."

"I see."

For a long moment, they stood at a silent impasse.

"Well," interrupted the lawyer at last, a sudden movement belying his impatience, "is he here or not?"

"Have a seat," Spock said shortly and moved towards the kitchen after confirming that the man was settled and not likely to be a nuisance. He pushed open the swinging door, expecting to find Leonard at the small wooden table in the corner which served as their break area. Instead the sight that greeted Spock brought him to a standstill.

Leonard, upon seeing him, jerked out of Jim's embrace. Jim leaned in toward McCoy almost lazily, dazed, with a confused "Bones?" His fingers skirted up Leonard's neck and wound themselves back into the man's short hair.

"_Spock_," Leonard said, a discordant sound in the silence.

Jim's relaxed posture stiffened. He didn't turn around.

Spock said what he needed to—"You have a visitor, Mr. McCoy"—and retreated.

McCoy came right on his heels through the door, saying his name with an unusual urgency. When Spock did not react, Leonard grabbed a hold of his arm. Spock spared a glance for that hand on his sleeve before removing it. "Your visitor, Mr. McCoy," he reiterated. "I would request that you return to work after your personal business has been concluded. There is paperwork I must finish."

The man's eyes were on his back. Spock chose to ignore Leonard's softly muttered "_oh hell_." He could not ignore, however, Leonard's next remark: "Jim threw up in the bathroom. You should take him home."

Spock concurred. There was one place he did not wish to see Jim at the moment and that was in this building. He could not look at Jim and think. He also feared he could not look at Jim and forget.

With a sour emotion tightening his throat, he watched Leonard speak with the lawyer but did not care to listen to their conversation. It could not become his concern. Spock only waited until the second the conversation concluded, as Leonard rose from the booth with great care, before he headed to the back room. There he extracted a sick-looking Jim from the bathroom and took him home.

If Jim was surprised Spock delivered him to the front steps of his house, the man said nothing of it as he eased from the car.

"I have a guest bedroom," Spock told him.

"Spock..." Jim began, interrupted by a weak coughing fit.

"You will stay there," he finished in a voice that offered no compromise. "There is a bathroom adjacent to the room for your use. I placed any amenities you may need on the counter."

Jim followed him to the bedroom, pausing to lean heavily against the doorframe as Spock stepped back into the hallway. "Spock." Kirk watched him for a second, face drawn with pain. Whatever he wanted to say, in the end he chose not to. "Will you be back after closing?"

Did Jim think he would not return to his own home?

"Yes." A bit of that sour emotion loosened its choking hold on him. Spock said, "If you need me to return prior to that time for any reason, please call. ...And if it is an emergency, you must promise that you will contact me."

The corner of Jim's mouth lifted faintly. "I think our definitions of 'emergency' vary."

Spock was already aware of that disturbing difference. "Jim, I require your promise."

Jim closed his eyes and said, "You have it, Spock." A heavy pause followed. "Thank you for everything."

Spock found he could not reply. He returned to work.


	11. Part Eleven

Kirk had messed up badly, and the worst part was he had messed up his own plan.

It hadn't been hard to touch Bones, to give in to the fierce need for comfort, when Bones had been gentle with him rather than smug or dismissive. If Jim liked Leonard McCoy when he was grumpy, how could he not love the man when Leonard was kind?

McCoy hadn't even complained when Jim shoved past him into the restroom to throw up every last sugary treat he had enjoyed. Leonard had put a paper towel soaked in cold water against the back of his neck and handed him another one to wipe his mouth with a softly spoken, sympathetic "_Aw, kid._"

The sickness was entirely Jim's fault, from the very first blow he cajoled out of the enraged boyfriend to the moment his stomach revolted because he had wanted to eat a cookie and feel like he wasn't dying. Yet, fault or not, that didn't seem to matter to Bones, not when it came down to actions instead of words. Jim loved him so much in that moment, he was drunk with the feeling.

(And possibly a little drunk from his medication too.)

He had thanked Bones for caring about him in the only way that made sense at the time—and that was by pulling him in as close as possible and—

Jim pressed his arm to his face and tried to forget his transgression.

It was a testament, he reasoned, to Spock's character that Spock had still decided to bring him to his personal residence and amazingly remained concerned about his health. Jim had expected different, if he was to be honest with himself. He had been prepared to forgive Spock for any slight or subtle retribution because it would have been well-deserved.

But Spock was a man like no other. He had forgotten that.

"_Stupid_," he muttered. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jim."

What was the quickest way to fuck up the happiest time in his life?

Easy. Steal your best friend's crush and rub his nose in it.

Right now, Jim wanted the world to hate him as much as he hated himself. At least then he would know how to cope with his guilt.

* * *

"You have my permission to leave."

Leonard ground his back teeth and reached for another dirty cup in the sink. "You said that five minutes ago, and five minutes before that."

Spock's cool voice was like ice creeping along his spine. "Yet you are still here."

His fingers clenched around a ceramic handle. _Don't toss the mug at his head. Don't toss the mug at his head. DON'T TOSS THE MUG AT HIS HEAD. _"You implied I had a choice."

A pause. Then the command came, as Leonard knew it would. "Please leave, Mr. McCoy."

He thunked the mug onto the counter, not caring as water went everywhere, and turned on the man staring at him from the opposite end of the counter. "No."

Spock's eyes were dark already, the kind of color that seemed black at times. Leonard didn't think it was possible for them to grow darker, and yet they did. McCoy watched Spock muster every ounce of his control and build a Great Wall of Indifference to guard his real feelings.

"When an employer gives an order," said Spock, "it is in the best interest of the employee to obey—"

"If he wants to remain employed," Leonard finished. "Let me stop you right there, Spock, before you say something I might have to hit you for."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. McCoy? How unwise."

Leonard's temper had already been honing itself all afternoon over Spock's silent accusation every time their eyes met. He knew this confrontation was going to end badly but could not keep himself in check. He was tired of this game.

Leonard stalked forward, saying, "You're pissed. I get it. Now, are we going to stop dancing around in the shit and talk about _why _you want to slam me into the nearest wall, or should I just..." Testing the waters, he stopped within a foot of Spock, glared, and folded his arms. "...tell you what really happened between Jim and me."

Interesting. Spock _could _look like a man about to lose control. But seeing something beneath that slip of emotion and recognizing it as fear, Leonard pressed on. "We've already had a conversation about your feelings for Jim and I said I wasn't going to get in your way. I didn't break that promise, Spock."

"I do not recall a promise from you, Mr. McCoy."

"Would you stop calling me that?" Leonard snapped. "You can damned well call me Leonard even when we're fighting!"

"The use of your first name implies we are more than professional acquaintances—which we are not."

Stung by that cold remark, Leonard shot back, "I never asked to be your friend. Hell, who _would_?"

He regretted the words the moment he said them but by then it was already too late to take them back. At last, he had broken through that damnable control of Spock's but seeing the man's mask crack, seeing the wound he caused, produced the worst feeling in the world.

Spock turned away. Leonard went after him.

"Wait!" He grabbed the man's arm. "Spock, I didn't mean—"

"You said exactly what you meant," Spock countered. When he added, suddenly alarmingly subdued, "I would not wager you are wrong," Leonard tightened his grip and swung in front of Spock to block an escape.

"What does that mean?" he asked sharply.

Spock stared over Leonard's shoulder, his face once again impassive though that impassivity did not seem as impenetrable as before. His voice was tight. "It means, Leonard, I do not have friends. You have told me nothing I am not already aware of." Now he met Leonard's eyes. "I have always understood why I will never have an intimate relationship with Jim. It is because of who I am, not because of you or any decision you may or may not pursue. My anger and my… disappoint were misdirected. For that, please accept my apology."

Leonard's heart lodged in his throat, along with words. Of all things, Spock was this insecure? That was the craziest... "..._stupidest _thing I've ever heard!" the exclamation broke free in a rush. Leonard took a hold of Spock's shoulders and tried to shake him, which was tantamount to shaking a deeply rooted tree. "Spock! You can't possibly believe—"

But he did. There it was, every awful belief naked in the man's eyes. And there was more pain too, because Spock didn't understand Leonard's outburst.

Leonard closed his eyes and searched for the right words. "Damn it," he muttered, not finding them. He opened his eyes again. "Spock, I don't know what to say, except that _I _don't believe for a second you are... whatever the hell you think you are. Weird, annoying, emotionally stunted—"

"Leonard," Spock said in a soft sigh.

Leonard made a pained face. "Okay, so maybe you are some of—_all of_—those things...but don't you get it? That's what makes you," he drew in a breath and plunged ahead, because _none _of what Spock said was true and it would be cruel to let him continue to think along those lines, "attractive."

Spock stared at him for a short moment then arched an eyebrow.

Leonard really, really wanted to backpedal. "What I'm saying is, you're, oh crap—those _qualities _can be considered, maybe, by some to be a-a—"

"Attractive," Spock supplied when Leonard fumbled over the word. "You are saying you find me attractive."

Leonard's hands spasmed on Spock's shoulders, whereupon he realized he was still holding onto the man and immediately let go. Then he backpedaled, literally.

"Fascinating," Spock said, following him. "Would this be an appropriate time to ask..."

"No," Leonard said firmly. He was terrified to even consider what kind of questions Spock's giant, clockwork brain could possibly think up. Leonard hurried back to the abandoned mug and the puddle of water that had accumulated on the floor beneath the counter. "You know what, Spock, you had a great idea. I should call it a night."

Unnervingly close, Spock took the mug out of Leonard's hand and offered him a hand towel in its place. Leonard knelt on the floor, grateful he didn't have to actually make eye contact with Spock, and went to work at soaking up the puddle.

Unfortunately, now that Spock had something new to consider that meant he was immediately going to contemplate it. Out loud. "This is an unexpected development. I did not realize your feelings for me were not of a platonic nature."

Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose.

"When did the change occur?"

Leonard grimaced and wordlessly beat at the water puddle with the towel. Spock was picky about his shoes. Water on his shoes would surely annoy him.

Except Spock did not run away or even protest as a normal person would. Instead the tall man crouched down, took the towel away from Leonard and meticulously cleaned up the remaining water (and now its radial spray across the tiles). He still talked as he worked. Leonard couldn't believe it.

"Does your attraction to me affect your attraction to Jim?" A two-second pause ensued. "I would conjecture that it does not."

No, definitely it does not, Leonard thought sourly. He hadn't exactly been pushing Jim away before Spock happened upon them.

"It is, of course, not unprecedented that one individual shares a mutual affection for multiple partners."

"Spock."

"Some middle-eastern countries retain marriage laws that allow a man to take several wives."

Leonard opened his mouth to tell Spock to _shut up already! _when he noticed, though Spock was garrulous and curious and seemingly undisturbed by Leonard's slip-up, he was now folding the wet hand towel into a neat square, which he then folded into a smaller, neater square and so on.

A realization surprised Leonard: Spock was nervous.

McCoy dropped his head into one hand and thought, _oh god, what have I done now? _With his other hand, he reached out and claimed the abused towel. "Spock," Leonard said, lifting up his head only marginally so he wasn't muttering to the floor, "I made a mistake by saying anything."

Spock quieted.

Leonard continued quickly, "I'm not saying I don't find you attractive—" Oh hell, did he really just admit that? "—but I need you to know... I don't intend to do anything about it."

"Why?" Spock asked softly.

Leonard met his gaze then. "The reasons I gave you in Jim's case? They apply between us too." He hoped Spock would understand, and he also hoped his excuse wouldn't sound as weak to Spock's ears as it did to his.

Spock stood up and, looking down at him, challenged, "I cannot accept that as truth when I have witnessed evidence to the contrary."

Leonard rose as well. "Now wait a minute, what do you mean 'evidence to the contrary'?"

"You were responding to Jim's touch, which indicates you no longer consider those reasons applicable… at least not sufficiently applicable that you should be deterred in your desire for him."

"I responded against my better judgment—and I am paying for that!" Leonard said harshly. "You think I don't regret it?"

A hard look came into Spock's eyes. "Why should there be regret?"

Leonard made a noise, part triumph, part exasperation. "Right there, Spock," he said, pointing a finger at the man's chest, "_that_ is the reason for regret. _You_. No matter how fascinating you may think my attraction to you is, it's a fact you are in love with James Kirk." He loosed a breath that became a shudder. "You love him so much, you risked his hate just to keep him on this earth. Don't think I don't know how badly it could have gone if Jim didn't want to keep from hurting you as much as you want to keep from hurting him."

Spock said nothing.

"I may be two kinds of a fool, Spock, but I'm not crazy enough to stand in the way of that kind of love."

Spock took a step toward him. "Even when you know Jim is available to love you."

"Who said his heart's available?" Leonard questioned quietly. "I think Jim cares about you, Spock, more than he knows. You accept him, good, bad and ugly, which Jim needs." The kid's got more insecurities than both of us combined, McCoy didn't add. "And if tomorrow you walked away? I'm pretty damn sure he'd come to his senses and go after you."

Spock was silent for a long moment. Then he took a second step, one that closed the distance between them. "Your argument seems valid, Leonard, except in one respect."

Leonard crossed his arms. Finally, this was Spock he was familiar with. "What's that?"

"Your feelings—you did not address them."

"Which," Leonard replied calmly, "I never intend to address. I told you before... I'm too screwed up to commit to anyone. Let it go at that."

"I cannot," Spock said.

Leonard realized too late what Spock was doing.

"What did it feel like," the man asked as he leaned in, eyes intent and hooded and, oh jesus, hypnotizing, "to kiss Jim?"

Leonard couldn't have answered if he wanted to; words fled him the moment he recognized Spock's intent. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, trying to escape.

"Will you show me?"

Leonard was never more wrong in his life than when he thought Spock was a nervous man. There was nothing hesitant or shy or doubting in the way Spock pressed his mouth against Leonard's. Leonard, ever the helpless fool he often claimed he was, responded instinctively, maybe out of the loneliness he had chosen for himself. Whatever the cause of his response, as Leonard had thought during the encounter with Jim, he thought now too: there would be plenty of time to regret his recklessness later.

Later, he knew, always came too soon.

Spock pulled back, breaking their contact, and watched him closely.

Leonard's heart plummeted as reason came swooping in to take its rightful place. He handed the towel, still clutched loosely in his fingers, to Spock, and said, "We shouldn't do that again." Stepping away, Leonard strode for the door, vaguely feeling disconnected from the actions of his body. He remarked with painful care, so Spock could not fail to understand him, "See you tomorrow, sir."

Leonard went home, unmindful of how long it took him to get there or that he hadn't stopped to pick up dinner on the way. Once he made it to his apartment door, time had faded the lingering warmth from Spock's mouth and left him cold. Leonard welcomed the coldness and the feeling of being alone. Such familiar companions did little, however, to ease his confusion.

So instead he spent time thinking about what his father's lawyer had told him and wondered how in the world his life had gotten better and worse at the same damn time.

* * *

**And… I have a feeling we are going to need a miracle very, very soon. :/**


	12. Part Twelve

**Part Eleven was posted yesterday. Please be certain you have read that first.**

**Sorry, this part is side-tracking from the main plot a little. Leonard wanted to go on another adventure?**

* * *

Jim had had plenty of time to think and to plan. There was only one way to make things right and that was to piss Leonard off so much the man forgot they had ever shared a moment of affection. The problem, though Jim knew what needed to be done, was he had no clue how he would implement his plan. His thoughts went something like this:

McCoy liked nothing less than Jim wanting to know everything about him. Therefore, Jim needed to _find out _those things Bones did not want him to know and make a big show of what he knew. He could only think of one person (it wasn't like Leonard dropped any names of friends) who could help him.

Problem 2 then became: How to Find The Hot Lady Who Knows Bones.

Jim hunched over in his chair at the dining room table, thereby causing the dull ache of his ribs to become a fresh pain anew. That heightened his aggravation. How was he supposed to begin a search if he was laid up—

"Jim, the soup is ready."

—and he was under constant surveillance.

"Thanks, Spock," Jim said.

Spock stared at him until he straightened his slouch and looked perky enough to accept a bowl of soup. When Spock handed him a spoon, Jim joked, "Aren't you going to feed me?"

"Fractured ribs do not make you an invalid," Spock replied, placing in front of him a tray complete with the vegetable soup, a few slices of French bread, and a glass of water with his pills laid out and ready to be swallowed.

Jim had never had anyone look after him this way. Was it normal to be appreciative and annoyed at the same time? Jim tried the soup (not his favorite kind) and, surprised at its hearty flavor, told Spock how good it was. Spock took the compliment graciously and seated himself next to Jim.

Jim paused in stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth. "Why aren't you eating?"

"I will eat later." Spock opened a briefcase and unearthed a brown ledger, which he arranged on his place mat before searching for a pen.

Something was off, Jim knew that much. Because he figured it had to do with him, Jim bit his lip and didn't ask. Idly, he thought that Bones would have called Spock out.

_Stop thinking about him, _he chastised himself. The meal became the focus of Jim's undivided attention for some minutes. Once his stomach seemed satisfied, he eased up on attacking his bowl of soup and ventured, "So... I was thinking I could run a few errands for you while I'm enjoying the luxury of your home."

"That will not be necessary," Spock replied, never looking up from his ledger. He turned a page, removed a bookmark, and made another notation on a column of figures.

"C'mon, Spock," Jim insisted, "I feel like a freeloader here. Let me do something."

"You are injured. You should do nothing but rest."

Jim pushed his tray away, agitated. "You just said I am not an invalid! If that's the case, then why are you treating me like one?"

He had Spock's attention now, who placed his pen aside. "I want you to be well, Jim."

Jim reined in some of his temper. "I know that, Spock, I do. But I don't need a crutch—and I don't want one."

"That was not my intention," Spock murmured softly. He paused. "If you wish to leave, you may."

Jim felt like he had concluded a ten-year war with his worst enemy and somehow still come away defeated. "Please don't think me ungrateful for your hospitality," he said. Jim gave Spock a brief smile. "I'm just... not good at being cooped up. Or sick. But you probably know that."

"Indeed." Spock resumed making entries in his accounting ledger. "However, I am aware of the value of compromise. If you feel rested after tomorrow, I would not mind company on my outings."

"Okay," Jim agreed, feeling somewhat easier. He tried not to think about what would happen on those outings—or that he would need to ditch Spock to pursue his own agenda.

Jim played with his spoon and turned his mind back to Problem 2. He pondered how he was going to track down the mysterious woman Bones did not want him to meet. Hadn't Jim warned McCoy he intended to pry? How apt, he thought, that he'd already covered that basis without knowing it. At the time he had been bluffing.

Because he wasn't paying attention, when Jim went to pick up his glass of water he knocked it over instead. "Incoming!" Jim warned and snatched up a napkin to staunch the flood.

Spock, way more quick to respond to Jim's orders than Jim would have thought, immediately tucked the precise accounting ledger against his chest to protect it from water damage.

"Sorry," Jim apologized as he sopped up the trail of water across the dining table. "Really sorry," he repeated, picking up a now sadly soggy piece of paper. "I hope this wasn't important." He squinted at the inked numbers beginning to spread into an indiscernible smear.

"Unfortunately," Spock said, "that was not intended for me."

"Oops, um, wait I can still read it... 312...5? No, that's a 6... or an 8. Shit."

"You may throw it away," Spock told him. "I memorized the phone number."

Jim eased away from the table, ruined bookmark in hand and wet napkin in the other hand. "Who was it for?" he asked out of curiosity as he began to hobble toward Spock's kitchen.

"Mr. McCoy" came the slow answer. "A... woman wished to contact him."

Spock had his back to Jim so he couldn't have possibly seen how Jim froze in place. Looking down at the mess in his hand and recognizing it as something completely new and valuable, Jim released a quiet breath. A godsend or a golden ticket—he couldn't decide which this was. "Tell me the number," he remarked too casually once he had reached the archway of the dining room. "I'll write it down—just in case."

Spock did not think twice about obliging him.

* * *

Leonard had debated on doing this more than once in the past few weeks. On the day he threw his writer's notebook across his apartment and threatened his muse with dire consequences for being absent, he knew he had to take his pride in hand and seek out help or he would most likely never regain his sanity. Thus that decision led Leonard McCoy to this door in hopes a friend could make some sense of his life. When the door to the condo began to open, Leonard said immediately, "I need help."

A young man—not the person Leonard expected at all to answer the door—blinked at him from behind large-framed glasses.

Clearing his throat, Leonard corrected his demand. "Sorry. Is Jocelyn home?" Watching the young man (and here Leonard was tempted to think of him as a boy because he looked more like a teenager than an adult) pale, Leonard made an educated guess. "Clay?"

Clay opened his mouth, closed it without saying anything, and nodded slightly. Leonard was beginning to wonder if Clay was actually capable of speech when the young man gently widened the door as an invitation to come in. He left Leonard standing there, just inside the threshold, as he puttered away.

Leonard glanced at the condo's neatly decorated living room and thought maybe he had the wrong place. Then he spied a few touches here and there in the pristine environment that was purely Jocelyn.

"Len!"

Jocelyn came hurrying from a hallway, Clay following awkwardly (and still oddly silent) on her heels.

Leonard accepted the enthusiastic hug then leaned in to whisper against her ear, "Is he a mute?"

Jocelyn punched his bicep. Then she beamed at her fiancée. "This is Leonard McCoy, Clay. Leonard, Clay Treadway."

Clay softly said hello, extended a scarecrow arm, and shook Leonard's hand. Jocelyn tugged Leonard toward a couch, leaving her fiancée to linger uncertainly in place. Clearly he did not know whether she wanted him to be party to her visit with her ex-boyfriend. And just as clearly, Leonard thought, the guy didn't look like he had balls enough to ask.

"So, Clay," Leonard said, figuring he might as well be polite, "Joss tells me you're in pre-med."

Clay, who had been looking at Jocelyn in a dopey, helpless way, startled at Leonard's directness and blurted out, "Milk!"

Leonard silently questioned Jocelyn, _Is he crazy too?_

"S-Sorry," Clay said in a rush. "Yes, pre-med. And milk—we need milk."

"Oh!" Jocelyn called at the young man's swiftly retreating back, like his behavior wasn't unusual at all, "Clay, can you pick up some tomatoes too? I forgot to buy them for the spaghetti tonight."

"Stewed," Leonard guessed.

She nodded and confirmed to Clay. "Stewed."

Something sharp and annoyed flickered across Clay's face and then it was gone. So was he, gently shutting the front door in his wake.

"Weeell..." Leonard drawled purposefully.

"He's nice," Jocelyn interrupted. "And a little shy."

Leonard leaned back into the couch. "You said he was handsome, too, and rich. Exactly how many lies did you tell me, Joss?"

Boy, he'd forgotten how easy it was to pull her leg. Leonard ducked the couch pillow that came barreling at his head. "Whoa! Truce!" he shouted peremptorily.

"Clay is perfect the way he is!" she snapped back. "Don't you dare judge him!"

_More like still wet behind the ears. _Leonard knew better than to say that, however, or to insinuate she was robbing the cradle. Clay probably was a lot older than he looked.

Easing his legs out of kicking distance, Leonard pretended he was there for an impromptu friendly visit. He steered the conversation to a mundane topic like _hi, how are you?_ and _isn't the weather nice today?_

Jocelyn saw right through it, almost instantly. She scooted closer, peered into his face, and asked, "What's wrong?"

Leonard paused mid-lie and considered how to answer that properly. Then he sighed. "Joss, I need help," he said, circling back to his initial reason for coming to see her.

She said instantly, "Anything I can do, just name it."

He shook his head slightly, seeing her suddenly serious expression. "Not help-help. I meant advice. Advice would be good."

Oddly, she frowned. "So you haven't come to your senses yet. Damn it, Leonard!"

He sat up, realizing what she had expected of him. There wasn't anything he could say that wouldn't sound defensive or rude.

Jocelyn glanced away. "I guess it was too much to hope for."

Clenching his jaw, he asked, "Should I leave?"

Fire in those eyes. Yes, there was the girl he knew so well. And she wasn't going to let him walk out now. Leonard relented a little. "I know I'm disappointing you again, Joss, but... give me time?"

She wanted to say something snarky or sarcastic, he could tell, but she didn't. Instead, Jocelyn rose from her end of the couch and retrieved an afghan slung over the back of a chair. She settled into cross-legged position next to Leonard and wrapped herself in the afghan and announced, "I'm ready."

Leonard couldn't help but smile. "Cold, darling?"

They both knew good and well it was her habit to do this when she thought she was about to get into a long, drawn-out, emotional conversation. Fortunately for Jocelyn, Leonard had no such intentions of going that far.

But he did have to tell her something important. "Phil came to see me."

Jocelyn made a noise of surprise. "Your dad's lawyer?"

He nodded. Suddenly Leonard found himself in a death grip by an afghan monster.

"Is it money?" Jocelyn demanded. "Oh god let it be money!"

Leonard tried futilely to separate himself from her. "Joss, damn it, Joss, let go! No, it's not—okay, it is money!"

"Eee!" she squealed. "YOU'RE GOING BACK TO COLLEGE!"

Leonard scrambled off the couch and glared at her. "It's not that much!"

"Who cares!" his friend crowed. "You deserve every bit of inheritance—wait—" Jocelyn stilled. "You already inherited everything. Or at least I thought so. Didn't you sell it to pay the debts?"

He rolled his eyes. "_I know that_, and yes I did sell the house." A tinge of bitterness colored his tone, but he pushed the feeling aside. His parents couldn't have known they would be leaving him to sort out their finances. It wasn't that his family had been poor, but they were middle class and suddenly raising another son later in life. He didn't blame them for anything, no matter how disappointed he was when he had to let go a lot of what he had considered sentimental and "home".

"Leonard," Jocelyn said, pulling him from his thoughts, "but how can you be getting money when there's nothing left?"

"A small life insurance policy," he said. "Did I tell you my dad used to sell insurance right before I was born?"

"You told me," she agreed. "There's another life insurance policy?"

"Not the same company," he said, sitting down on the couch again when she made room for him. "It was bought out by a bigger corporation years ago. To be honest, you know my dad. I wouldn't be surprised if he lost the paperwork."

She muttered something he didn't bother to hear. Jocelyn had been the one to dig through his father's office after the accident, looking for anything like policies or bank statements or savings accounts. Anything that could have helped him figure out how to pay funeral costs for three people. He had been to numb to do it himself. In the end, Phil had become involved as well, organizing what assets were available and helping Leonard understand what he had—and what he didn't.

Leonard didn't know why Phil even thought of him now, given all of the time that had passed. Loyalty, maybe. Phil's family had been the legal counselors of the McCoy family for more than one generation. When Leonard had asked the older man how Phil could have possibly found out about the ancient policy, Phil had only said, "It's the least I can do for you, Leonard. It never did feel right, you ending up with nothing. What does that say about my expertise if your father left his son a beggar when I _know _he'd worked all of his life to give you a better one?" Phil had looked emotional for a moment, not an unexpected reaction since he had been a close friend to Leonard's father for over thirty years. "He'd have wanted me to keep lookin'." And that was all Phil would say of the matter.

It was a good thing Leonard had had enough control over himself not to break down into tears in the middle of the coffee shop.

Jocelyn had rested a hand on his arm. Perhaps she saw the memories playing across his face. The pressure against his flesh was sympathetic. Leonard rubbed at his eyes.

"It's real small, a term-life policy," he said softly. "Not worth more than a few grand, because my parents were young and couldn't afford anything expensive. Funny thing is..." His smile wobbled. "Somebody had to keep making the payments all these years so it would stay active."

"Your mother," Jocelyn guessed.

He nodded, his throat too tight for words.

"Oh, Len," the woman beside him said and pulled him in for a hug.

Leonard welcomed the closeness, the comfort. He hadn't realized how much he needed it until the moment her arms were around him. Seeing Phil had brought back memories of a painful time, and yet somehow felt like the lancing of an old wound too. He didn't understand.

"I'm so glad for you. So glad." She eased back. "Can I make a suggestion?"

Leonard snorted lightly and wiped the tears off his face. "You mean can you tell me to use it for tuition money?"

She was silent for a second. "...As much as I think that would be a good idea, you need a break, Len. Maybe you could take a trip?"

He looked at her, startled. "Why in the world would I waste it on travelin'?"

Jocelyn raised her chin. "Because you're just starting to live a semblance of a normal life again!"

He was?

"You're finally starting to heal—"

How in the hell did she figure that? "Joss..."

"—and I'll be damned if I watch you backslide because you're a stubborn jackass!"

"I'm just the way I was!"

"No—you—aren't!" she countered, poking a finger into his chest with each word. "You actually have a job where you _associate _with people."

"I associated before!"

"Riiight. 'Hello, I'm Mr. Grumpy-McGrump. Stay the hell away from me.' Oh and, your favorite form of communication," she finished, her eyes twinkling, "_grunt, grunt, grunt._"

He automatically started to make a wordless, irritated grunt in response and caught himself. Jocelyn laughed so hard, she rolled into an afghan ball and almost fell off the couch. Leonard was very tempted to help her along to the floor.

Instead he sighed loudly and said, "Story of my life. Are you done making fun of me yet?"

Jocelyn wiped her eyes. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Besides," she said cheekily, "if this is the story of your life, we're finally getting to the good part."

"If I were the one writing the story, I'd have felt bad for my sorry ass chapters again and had me win the lottery."

"That's cheating," Jocelyn argued.

Leonard gave her sharp grin. "Not when you're the author."

"Well, _I _would tell it differently," Jocelyn said, standing up and throwing off her afghan. She cut him a sly look. "I'd have you fall in love. What's the point in winning lots of money if you can't share it with anyone?"

Leonard didn't mean to. He made a noise, one that Jocelyn would recognize too well. But she had caught him by surprise with the talk of love and he had a moment of panic, thinking, _how the hell does she know?_

He was off the couch by the time she deciphered his reaction and heading towards the door. That didn't deter Jocelyn from leaping him after with a gasp of "Leonard! LEONARD! OH MY GOD YOU LIKE SOMEBODY!"

Face flushed, Leonard flung open the condo's door and stepped right into Clay's personal space, who had obviously had made it no farther to the grocery store than the keyhole. He tossed his arm around the startled man's shoulders, more as a way to pin him than as a friendly gesture, and said loudly, "Clay, you look like you're legal. Congratulations, you're my new beer buddy."

"Len!" Jocelyn demanded, incensed he was ignoring her, and stuttered to a stop within the doorway to stare at him.

Leonard just grinned shamelessly at her as he not-so-subtlety maneuvered her helpless young fiancée toward the third floor's stairway door and shoved it open with his free hand.

"Um," Clay said, looking hesitantly from Leonard to a glaring Jocelyn with her hands on her hips and back again.

"Come with me if you want to live," Leonard deadpanned.

"Damn you, Leonard Horatio McCoy!" Jocelyn called as they disappeared inside the stairwell. "I will find out all your secrets! And bring my future husband back in one piece!"

* * *

Beer wasn't just good; it was great. Especially, Leonard thought, the third one in a row. He took another swallow of the light house brew, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and set about staring at his best friend's (and ex-girlfriend's) soon-to-be husband. Clay's face had taken on a red tint from his second beer.

A lightweight, Leonard decided smugly.

At least the boy had loosened up enough to string two words together.

"So..." Leonard began as a conversation starter (given that they had been in the pub for thirty minutes and drank silently the entire time). He glanced at one of the televisions on the walls. "Sports?"

Clay put his now-empty beer bottle on the table with a thud and hiccupped. "Not really." The boy blinked at Leonard owlishly from behind his glasses. "Astro-stro-y?" Another hiccup mangled the word.

Leonard raised an eyebrow. "Astrology? You want to read each other's fortunes... in a bar?"

A flush crept across the young man's neck; he shook his head vigorously and corrected, "Nooo, astro-_no-my _. Stars. I—" Hiccup. "—like looking at stars?"

Leonard wasn't sure how to answer that since Clay had made it a question. Time for another swallow of beer, if anything so he didn't have to ask what kind of medication the guy was taking.

Clay seemed to deflate a little. He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and traced the condensation on his beer bottle. "Leonard."

Leonard looked up.

Clay frowned, still contemplating the very uninteresting tabletop. "Len?"

"I prefer Leonard."

"Okay. Leonard."

Clay drawing a deep breath was the clearest warning bell Leonard had heard in a long time. He braced himself.

Clay looked intently at him then, dropping his hands, palms flat, to the table. "Leonard, are you going to take her back?"

Leonard almost turned over his beer bottle in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"My girlfriend—_fiancée_," Clay asserted. "I know what you mean to her. So, are you here to take her back?"

"No." Leonard thought about it for a second then added, a bit relieved, "Good god, _no_."

Clay stiffened in his seat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Leonard leaned back, somewhat casually, and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Hey, don't take it like that. I love Joss. Lord knows, I'd be the first one to tell you what a gem she is." He paused, considered Clay. "You do know how damned lucky you are, right?"

Jocelyn's fiancée nodded.

"Good." Leonard's mouth quirked with humor and a touch of something else. "I didn't want to have to break your face. Joss mentioned how much she likes it."

Clay made another owlish blink, no doubt trying to work out how sincere Leonard's threat really was. "So you came by to visit. Just visit. Seriously?"

"Not to shock you or anything but old friends do that on occasion, the visiting thing."

Apparently Clay didn't like his mocking tone.

Leonard relented a little. "She probably told you about... how we broke up."

"Everything," Clay said flatly. His mouth thinned into a serious line. "You were an asshole."

Leonard nodded. "I know." He picked up his beer for another swallow but grimaced, for some reason suddenly not wanting that taste in his mouth. He gently set it back down and pushed it aside for the waitress to pick up. "Clay, just so we're clear, I'm still kind of an asshole. I understand if you might not want me hanging around."

Clay frowned at him, touching the corner of his glasses though the frame wasn't crooked. "You're an asshole who admits he's an asshole? That doesn't seem... to align, somehow."

Leonard shrugged. "All I know is I screwed up with Jocelyn. That isn't to say we might have made it much longer as a couple than we did, but... things shouldn't have ended that way. It was my fault." And damn, he really hadn't come here to have a heart-to-heart with Clay. He'd just wanted to get away from Jocelyn's prying. Clay had seemed like a good buffer at the time.

"Okay," Clay said slowly. "So that makes you an asshole in the past. Why are you an asshole now?" He looked like he couldn't decide what else Leonard was besides an asshole. Maybe a psycho too, like Leonard had thought of him?

Leonard's smile turned bitter. "I'm still screwing up people's lives, if you really want to know."

Clay opened his mouth, then quickly closed it. His expression was caught between befuddlement and alarm.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Leonard said offhand. "But we're here to drink and judge each other like proper, tough guys, not bemoan our shortcomings."

For the first time, Clay's face showed a tentative sense of humor. "Is that what we are—tough guys?" He pointedly flexed one of his thin arms. "Can't say my yearbook bio has ever said that."

Leonard relaxed a little. "Same here. In high school, I was the guy who had too much to say about everything, whether it was with my mouth or on paper."

"Joss said you write."

"I do—or did," Leonard admitted. "I've probably run out of words by now. Said 'em all a million times." He suddenly craved coffee, strong and unrelentingly black. Nothing sugar-coated.

Clay didn't offer him any sympathy, which was for the best, Leonard thought.

But what Clay did say was surprising and not the least bit off the beaten track. "I'm sorry about your family."

Leonard studied the young man's face. He didn't see anything misleading or unpalatable there. Leonard nodded. "Thanks."

Clay sighed and slumped slightly in his chair. "I've been paranoid because since—since she ran into you, she's talked about you nonstop. She said she was ecstatic and worried and a thousand things she couldn't describe so of course," Clay continued, taking off his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose before replacing them, "I read more into it."

"Clay," Leonard said with honesty, "you don't have to worry. Jocelyn, she loves you, I can tell. And I'm..." Here he hesitated, not certain what he could say to make Clay believe him.

Damn, the boy looked so worn down. If it was an act, it was a convincing one.

Leonard thought that maybe, just maybe, the truth might help this once. "I'm sort of involved with someone."

The relief in Clay's face was almost heartbreaking. "Really?"

Leonard let loose a much more dramatic sigh than Clay had. "Really. And believe me," he added grumpily, "it's so damn complicated I'm not likely to want to date anybody ever again once it goes south."

Clay looked interested now. "That's a pretty pessimistic view."

"'Cause I'm all sunshine and rainbows, kid," Leonard remarked dryly.

"Right," Clay agreed dubiously. Idly, he fiddled with an empty bottle. "...So what's wrong with her?" He blushed. "The girl you're sort of involved with, I mean."

Leonard groaned. "_Him_." Or maybe that should be _hims? Thems? _Damn it, even the English language didn't like his situation and the English language was supposed to be his bread and butter!

So caught up in his musings, Leonard almost missed Clay's sudden clumsy fumbling and sputtering. He caught a bottle before it rolled off the table and eyed the man. Was he having an asthma attack?

Once Clay had calmed himself, or gotten himself under control, he stuttered, "B-But I don't. Jocelyn."

"Jocelyn...?"

"You slept with—I mean, dated!—Jocelyn!"

That took a moment to ripen in Leonard's brain. When it did, he sat back in his seat, wary. "I did."

"But you're gay?" Clay said, blinking.

"Gay, straight. I am what I want to be when I want to be it." He asked mildly, "Is that problem for you?"

Clay started to shrug but stopped. "Does Jocelyn know?"

"She knows me better than I know myself, Clay," Leonard said. "But to answer your question, yes, she knows I'm not too picky about the packaging."

Silence descended between them for a minute while Clay absorbed this news and no doubt re-evaluated his entire impression of Leonard McCoy. Leonard waited for him, wondering if this was going to be the first and last time they had a civilized conversation. Sometimes this type of situation had no hope of turning out better, not when a subject such as sexuality could make people very uncomfortable being around one another.

"You don't seem like you are attracted to men," Clay said at last.

At least they had made it past the silence. "You mean I don't fit your stereotype of homosexual behavior."

Clay's face reddened. "I meant you seem like a normal guy."

"I am normal," Leonard said in a too flat tone and checked his temper. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe gays are normal people? You like chocolate, I like vanilla. You like women, I like women and men. Preference isn't really abnormal by definition, is it?"

"I offended you. I'm sorry," Jocelyn's fiancée said quietly.

Leonard looked away and sighed once, twice, to regain his balance. Clay wasn't a bad guy. He could tell that from the moment he saw the young man sheepishly following Jocelyn when she came into the living room. "Forgiven," he said, not ready to condemn Clay out of hand for ignorance.

Silence began to creep up on them again. Perhaps Clay wasn't looking forward to a future where he alienated one of Jocelyn's best friends and had to explain that to her. He said to Leonard, "I, um, like vanilla too. Not chocolate."

There was a little devil inside Leonard. Sometimes it liked to make itself known. "Vanilla, huh?" He grinned sharply. "Maybe we have more in common than you think. Are you sure you don't like dick too?"

Clay turned pale white then banner red and opened his eyes to the size of quarters.

Leonard burst out laughing at the poor man's expression.

"I don't—oh geez, was that—?"

"It wasn't an invitation," Leonard assured Clay after he had toned down his amusement.

Clay took off his eyeglasses and cleaned them religiously until his color had returned to normal. When he slipped the glasses back on, he said contritely, "Please don't tell Jocelyn I'm an idiot."

Leonard looked at him askance. "Clay, _I'd _be the idiot if I told Joss about anything I just said to you."

Clay considered that. "Then we had beers... and were non-communicative macho men who grunted monosyllables at each other all night?"

"Now you're gettin' it," Leonard said approvingly.

Clay finally relaxed too. "Yeah, I guess I am."

They ordered another round of beers and discussed Clay's hobby of star-gazing.

* * *

Leonard hauled a not entirely sober Clay Treadway into Jocelyn's condo, dropped him face-first onto the couch and found a note on the coffee table.

It read: _Clay, my darling,_

Leonard scoffed and read on. Jocelyn loved her dramatics.

_Gone to meet a friend. Be back soon. Spaghetti's ready._

_Love, Jocelyn_

_PS: Leonard, I know you're reading this. If my drunken fiancée vomits on my brand-new white rug, I WILL KILL YOU. THEN HIM. NO ONE WILL EVER FIND THE BODIES._

_PPS: You can have some spaghetti too._

She had drawn three cute little hearts at the end, two of them holding hands under a rainbow. Leonard was the heart standing apart, frowning, in a chef's hat and an apron. Leonard would never understand how the female brain worked.

He stopped contemplating the nonsensical drawing at exactly the moment Clay gave a tell-tale groan. "No!" Leonard shouted, horrified. "Hold it in, man! Not on the—god-_fucking_-damn it, Clay!"

"I feel sick," Clay slurred and threw up again.

* * *

**To answer a reader's question about the by-play between Leonard and Clay: Leonard does not specifically say he is "bisexual" (or gay for that matter - you'll notice he avoids putting a label on himself!) but that is certainly what he is implying in his conversation. Also, he uses the word "gay" or "gays" in order to rattle Clay and to make a point. Leonard is challenging the fact it might be a taboo word, and a taboo concept, to Clay by forcing him to acknowledge it.**

**Personally, though, I see Leonard as more than the word bisexual can describe. To me, he does not have "two" sexualitites but rather a sexuality that doesn't make a distinction based on gender - or anything else. That's why I love a futuristic Star Trek - because I can get away with pretending that Leonard not only could like a human male but a person who is not a human at all, like Spock. Gender becomes irrelevant, as does species! (Three cheers for a threesome!) Labeling is not my cup of tea, really, so I try to avoid it when I can. But in some cases, where the AU is set in a world like today, one simply cannot discount how *others* are going to see, let alone judge, our dynamic trio.**


	13. Part Thirteen

Commence Operation: Assignation with Bones' Hot Lady.

Jim had called her from a payphone in the late afternoon, when he had a moment to steal away from Spock's watchful gaze, and arranged a "date". He had said he was contacting her on Leonard's behalf and that Leonard wanted to meet her that night. For a moment, he had thought she knew he was lying. Then the woman had muttered, "Why not?" To Jim, she gave directions: "I know how much Leonard likes sushi. There's a Japanese restaurant at the corner of Elm and Main. Tell him I'll meet him at the bar at seven thirty. And tell him how _much _I look forward to seeing him after all these years."

Jim wasn't certain what to make of that last bit of coyness and humor in her voice and had hung up. She was up to something...

But then again, so was he.

Jim pulled on his black boots and inspected his appearance in the mirror. Perfect.

He turned down the black turtle neck for comfort. Now if only he had... but hadn't Jim spied a pair of black leather gloves in Spock's coat closet? (Not that he had been snooping... too much. What was a man supposed to do when alone all day in an unfamiliar house? Acquaint himself with it, obviously!)

Spock wouldn't mind, Jim reassured himself. After all, the man had already donated the black turtle neck and black socks Jim was wearing, albeit unknowingly. Jim was certain if he had asked, Spock would have let him take what he needed, so long Spock never knew the reason _why _Jim needed them.

Jim snuck quietly through the house and retrieved the gloves. There he also stopped to admire himself in the foyer's full-length mirror.

Dressing in black made him look so cool. The only issue was his hair, which was a startling gold. That and the bruises, but he could do little about the condition of his face without an expertise at makeup—or the actual makeup, of which he owned almost nothing except some black eyeliner he had purchased at the age of sixteen. No telling where that had gone.

Jim decided he would have to take the black beret in Spock's coat closet too. It was a good thing he had filched it along with the gloves. Grinning, Kirk situated the beret on his head and snuck back to his room. He went straight to the window and pushed aside the curtains. Luckily, the frame wasn't painted shut from the outside (not that Jim could imagine it would be, since Spock kept his home in a state of perfection) but that would not have mattered anyway. Jim had been stealing out of bedroom windows since the tender age of seven. He knew what he was about.

Of course, this was the first time he had fractured ribs while committing the act. It couldn't be worse than that time he had had a broken arm, right? Scaling a tree and climbing in a window one-handed—it wasn't smartest thing he had ever done. The worst part had been the aftermath, lying in his own vomit and piss and tears, until his mother had realized he was missing three days later. That she'd remembered him at all had been a miracle.

Jim fiercely switched off the unpleasant memory and shoved it behind a door in his mind he tried very hard to pretend did not exist.

His ribs protested heartily. Jim ignored them and eased himself between the bushes and the side of the house. Somewhere in the distance (or maybe not that distantly, just over a row of tall hedges) a dog barked. If the hour had been closer to midnight and not dusk, someone might have come looking for the source of the dog's agitation and discovered Jim the cat burglar slipping around the fence of Mr. Spock's house. As it was, once Jim was past the fence and on the neighborhood sidewalk, he transformed his skulking into the appearance of a normal person enjoying a lovely evening stroll. He made it to the bus stop in time to catch the bus rumbling up to the sidewalk. A blue-haired, elderly woman glared at him and clutched her big purse protectively as he patiently waited for her to exit the bus so he could get on.

The driver said to him as he paid his fare, "Only going as far as downtown. We stop running at seven."

"That's fine with me," Jim said and took a seat near the back.

He would be just in time to meet this... Jocelyn.

* * *

The restaurant bar was busy for a week night. Jim had discarded his beret after a little girl on the bus had asked him if he drew kitty-cats. He'd drawn a cartoon cat with one of her colored pencils on the back of an old flyer to appease her.

"You're not Leonard," said a woman Jim recognized instantly as his quarry.

"Leonard couldn't make it," Jim said smoothly. "Since I lost your number, I couldn't call you and cancel." He smiled at her. "It seemed rude to let you wait for someone that wasn't going to show up. Mind if I sit?"

She eyed him as he perched next to her on a stool and turned back to the sushi bar, putting her purse on the counter. Not looking directly at her guest, she said, "You're Jim Kirk."

"I am."

"You're also a liar, Mr. Kirk. Now, I don't know which you are: a shy idiot or a creep who likes to lure women into his clutches under false pretenses—" Jocelyn picked up her glass of water and took a sip of it. "—but I'm inclined to believe the latter." She cut her eyes at him. "You should know... I have a taser in my purse and I know how to use it. I also know how to scream very _emphatically_."

Damn. "I'm not a creep. Or shy." Jim let his smile drop. "If I said I'm sorry about this, would you believe me?"

"No."

"Fair enough."

Jocelyn studied him. "But I will listen to an excuse if you've got one." Before he could reply, she added, "I remember you from the coffee shop, which means you work with Len."

_Len. _So, Jim had been right about the familiarity between McCoy and her. He nodded, confessed, "We're... friends." Since she said nothing to challenge that, he continued. "My only excuse is I wanted to meet you and I didn't want him to know about it."

"Why?"

"He wouldn't want me to." Jim shredded the side of a bar napkin. "McCoy doesn't say anything about, well, _anything_," he declared ruefully. "I'm a curious man by nature."

"So you want me to supply you with the gossip?" Jocelyn sat back and huffed in disgust. "You _are _a creep!"

"No, no, I'm not!" Jim insisted. When she shouldered her purse and stood up, he reached for her arm, only stopping short of actual physical contact. "Look, _Jocelyn_, I only want to know about him because—" He considered how to finish with giving away too much. "—there's someone who likes him. _Really _likes him."

Most people would still walk away, wouldn't accept such a lame excuse, but Jocelyn simply stared at him. And she looked intrigued. "Like as in want to date him, or like as in BFFs of an unholy nature?"

Distracted as a kitten following a ball of yarn, Jim wanted to know, "When you say 'of an unholy nature' are you talking about BFFs like... the devil and cheese being BFFs?"

She dropped back onto her stool. "How is cheese evil?"

"It tastes so good you end up eating too much of it and then your intestines can't unclog themselves for days. I'd say that makes cheese _very _evil." Watching her laugh, Jim relaxed slightly and resumed his seat. "Did I pass the test?"

"Maybe," Jocelyn admitted. "You're something else." Scrutinizing his face, she blushed and added, "Why is it that you look terrible and yet somehow I'm still very attracted to you?"

Without a qualm, Jim's ego insinuated itself into the conversation. He said silkily, "It's my gift to be this sexy all of the time."

"Clearly," she quipped in a dry tone, placing her purse aside and opening a bar menu. "By the way, Leonard hates sushi."

Jim perked up. "Yeah?"

"Big time. And never, ever sneak a baby octopus into his food. He'll puke." Her mouth quirked. "He gave me the silent treatment for a week."

Jim filed that interesting tidbit away and asked, "Are you two close?"

Jocelyn checked a box for a roll of the Pink Dragon and then one for spicy tuna. "We were." She glanced up at him. "I hope we still are."

Jim wondered how much of her past with Leonard she would willingly share. "You dated," he guessed.

"For a few years, yes. Okay, it's my turn to ask a question. Does Len know you like him?"

Oh crap. Jim realized his mysterious cover really hid nothing at all. He tried valiantly to salvage what he could. "When I said _someone_, I wasn't talking about myself."

"Ooh, so this is a love triangle?"

Jim stared at her.

Jocelyn handed her selection to the waitress, talking to Jim even as she did so. "You like Leonard and someone else likes Leonard too. Does he know...? No, wait. _Of course he knows!_" The woman tucked her short hair behind her ears and grinned at no one in particular. "So that's why he wouldn't tell me! Oh, this is gooood."

Jim was lost, very lost. He admitted as much.

Jocelyn poked his arm. "Listen up, mister. If there's anything I know about Leonard McCoy, it's that he is a wimp when it comes to making decisions about his love life."

She called Bones a wimp. "I officially love you," Jim told her.

Jocelyn ignored his interruption. "_You _have to take the bull by the horns. How do you think, after knowing the man all through school, I got him to go on a date with me?" She smiled at a fond memory. "Even if things didn't turn out like we had planned, I still treasure my time with him. He's a wonderful man."

Jim was not jealous. No, he was not.

"How cute," Jocelyn said, "you're jealous!"

For that, Jim was going to steal one of her pieces of sushi. "Why would I be jealous? Clearly you've moved on."

Jocelyn inspected her engagement ring with pride. "I picked it out myself. Clay's a sweetheart but he's so clueless about women's jewelry."

"Does Bones know?" Jim asked.

Confusion fluttered across her face.

"Leonard," Jim corrected. "Does Leonard know about you... and your fiancée?"

"Why do you call him Bones?" Jocelyn pressed, rather than answering his question.

Jim couldn't decide if the truth mattered here or not. "I had a dog named Bones when I was ten."

Jocelyn's expression said he was crazy. "You nicknamed Leonard after your _dog_?"

With innocence painted all over his face, Jim replied, "It was the only pet I ever had. Bones was kind of stupid though. He could never fetch a stick."

His companion thought this was hilarious. For some minutes she did nothing but laugh. The sushi bar's other patrons looked at them askance.

"Oh, oh," she said between giggles, "oh god, if you're telling the truth, that's a _perfect _name for him! Eeeheehee. 'Good boy, Bones!'"

Jim waited until her amusement flagged enough that she could catch her breath. "It's my turn again." Under the bar counter, his hands formed fists. He knew what he wanted from her. "What's wrong with McCoy?"

Thinking she would pretend not to understand question, Jim was surprised that he misjudged her.

"I want to tell you, Jim," Bones' ex said, "but I can't do it in good conscience."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"It's... a sensitive subject for Leonard. I don't have the right to decide who should know and who shouldn't."

"I want to help him" was Jim's soft admission.

She considered that and him, answering slowly, "I... think you do. That counts for a lot, which is why I will tell you this: Len really and truly believes he is alone. I think at first he needed that, because he saw it as a form of punishment, but now he's uncertain how to go about being himself again. We _can _help him," she said fiercely. "We can give him back his friends. We can give him people who love him."

Jim felt too many things to put them into words. This woman's passion was beautiful.

She showed hesitance at his silence. "Did I say too much?"

"No. Just thinking that I want to kiss you."

"I'll taser your ass."

Jim's grin was lopsided. "Ouch, rejection!" He sobered. "There is one thing I think you should know." Drawing a deep breath, he said, "That other person who likes Bones? He's my friend. He means a lot to me."

"...Oh that sucks."

Jim looked down at the tiny bits of paper that had once been a napkin.

"Do you know what you're going to do?" The question was gentle.

Jim said quite bitterly, as the waitress appeared with Jocelyn's order, "I'm doing it."

Even if she didn't understand what he meant, Jocelyn clearly knew something was wrong. She slid her plate toward him. "We can share."

He looked at her and understood what she meant. He could share his woes with a sympathetic ear if he wanted to. Jim popped a piece of sushi into his mouth. "Thanks."

"So he's nice, this friend of yours." Jocelyn looked contemplatively at the spicy tuna between her fingers.

"He's amazing," Jim said. "If I didn't think Bones was amazing too, I would say he's much too good for Bones."

"How come you aren't dating him then?"

Jim almost dropped his second piece of sushi. "Huh?"

"You aren't attracted to him," Jocelyn surmised.

Jim flushed. "I'm attracted to everybody. It might be a medical condition," he mumbled then shoved the sushi in his mouth so the evil thing would not confess anything else to a relative stranger.

Jocelyn apparently was in conspiracy with his mouth. She waited him out.

"He gave me a job," Jim admitted at last. "I thought we could have a last hurrah—" Gee, that hadn't sounded so cruel the first time he had thought it. "—right before I skipped out..."

"...only you never left," the woman said, picking up the rest of his sentence. "You realized you liked him." Jocelyn looked very pleased that she had solved the mystery.

"I realized," Jim tried to correct, "Spock was a nice guy who didn't deserve to have anyone playing with his heart."

"So he likes you back!"

Jim wanted to bang his head on the bar. Repeatedly. Why had he been so eager to meet this woman? She was _nosy_. She tried to pry things out of him he would never tell his priest. Jim paused in thought at that, recalling almost sadly he did not have a priest on retainer. Wasn't confession good for the soul or something?

"Jim, Jim!" Jocelyn said, poking at his arm again. "Where are you going? Things are starting to make sense!"

"No, they aren't!" he almost snapped, on his feet now. "_Nothing _makes sense." Jim dropped a twenty dollar bill on the bar and slid out of her reach. "Thank you for coming, Jocelyn. Sorry about the lie."

"Are you a coward?"

The challenge grabbed him like no person could and latched on tightly. Jim stiffened so, his injury ached from the tension. When he turned back to Jocelyn, she froze in her chair at his look; but she did not back down.

"I am not a coward," Jim said too quietly.

"And yet you're, what? Running away? Fixin' to do something dumb like let go of a good man?"

"That isn't your business."

She was angry now as she stood up. "Leonard McCoy is my business, and in case you don't realize it, he will _always _be my business. If you're about to do something that hurts him, I will kill you."

Jim's temper floundered under the intensity of hers. "I'm not going to hurt him." _I'm going to hurt me. _Don't you get that?

Maybe she did. Her tone softened a little. "Jim, you're being stupid but given that you're male, that's not unexpected. Now if you want to be smart for a change, let me talk to your friend about this. It's the manager of the shop, right? You probably got my phone number from him."

Of all the requests she could have had, she picked the one that Jim could never agree to. When he told her no, the woman looked like she was going to stomp her foot in frustration.

"You will not approach him," Jim warned her, his voice odd and low. "Because, Jocelyn, if you hurt Spock, I will kill _you_."

Maybe frightening her wasn't the best choice he had ever made, but he couldn't let that matter. Jim owed Spock. He owed Spock protection, even if it was protection from him. What truly mattered was that Spock wanted Leonard, and Leonard... wanted him back. Jim had seen that much the day he had tricked Bones into kissing him. A blind man—or even a man hopped up on painkillers—could not have failed to notice it.

It had taken Jim more than a few days to admit it, but he now knew the real trick was on himself. Kissing Bones had won him nothing but the guilt of knowing he had made a cruel attempt to ruin a good thing for Spock. Spock wasn't blaming him for what happened, for which Jim could not comprehend, but that did not mean Jim had been right to act as he did.

So he owed Spock this chance, which just compounded the huge debt he already owed Spock for a million other past kindnesses. Jim wanted to pay the debt back as quickly as possible, if only so it didn't continue to torment him.

He left both the restaurant and the woman urgently calling his name behind. He circled the downtown area, his footsteps retracing familiar haunts, until the sky was under the proper cover of night. Then Jim went to his apartment, which smelled abandoned, and unearthed a worn duffle bag from behind a fake panel he had installed in his closet. In the darkness of his bedroom, until the sun came and chased the moon away, Jim perused his "runaway" kit again and again, facing bitter memories, old identities, and lies he had simply never let go.

After the debt was paid, he would leave as he should have long ago. The instinct to be happy had overridden years of experience at the hands of life's finer cruelties; it had made Jim Kirk a fool. He should have known better than to think his body being safe meant his heart was safe too.

Sadly Jim thought, fingering a torn photograph of a younger version of himself playing with a droopy-eared bloodhound in a farmhouse yard, _Old dreams die hard, but they die nonetheless._

* * *

**Everybody needs counseling, especially the author. That is all.**


	14. Part Fourteen

**These boys make my brain hurt. Badly.**

* * *

Leonard was asleep face-down on his couch when someone started pounding on his door much too early in the morning. Groaning, he wedged his face farther into the corner of the couch, not having enough coordination or willpower to lift his head. After Clay had ruined Jocelyn's rug last night, not less than three times, Leonard spent the better part of an hour alternately cursing his newfound acquaintance with a lightweight drinker and soaking the rug in bleach. Then Jocelyn came home, took one look at what he was doing and screamed.

Apparently the rug wasn't white, it was _cream_. Or French vanilla or some such sorta-white-but-not-really color that Leonard was supposed to have known about. And he was bleaching it.

Oops.

Scratching his head, Leonard had looked down at the vividly bright white patches dotting the rug (he had scrubbed and scrubbed until the puke stains were obliterated) and said over his ex-girlfriend's horrified shrieks, "Joss, you said it was white. ...Huh, I guess that explains why the whole thing looked old."

She had chased him out of the condo and halfway down the stairwell. The experience would have been comical if he hadn't been certain he was going to die very painfully once Jocelyn caught him.

_Flowers_, Leonard thought now that he was awake. Or a teddy bear. What kind of gift said _I'm sorry I ruined your rug even though I was only doing what you wanted_?

He decided it might be better if he stayed scarce for a while, at least until Jocelyn cooled down and no longer threatened to put his balls through a meat grinder every time she saw him.

The pounding started up again.

"Fuuuuck," Leonard rumbled into the couch. He slung one limb over the arm of the couch and set about hauling himself into an upright position. It wasn't easy. He'd had a little more beer than he meant to, his arms ached from the repetitive motion of scrubbing, and he was pretty sure he had rug burn on both of his knees.

The pounding continued.

Leonard snarled at the door to his apartment, "Damn it, man, for the love of God, STOP! I'm comin'!"

Limping (or rather stumbling as his legs tried to remember what walking was) to the door, he jerked it open, already snapping out, "What the hell, Spock—"

Spock didn't apologize for his impatience; he didn't say "How did you know it was me?" Pushing Leonard aside, the tall, dark-haired man stalked into the apartment and gave it a glare that should have stripped the paint from the walls. "Is he here?" he asked in a low, tightly controlled voice.

Leonard's brain processed that question a second too late for Spock. Curiously wondering if Spock was actually going to shake him like his expression said he wanted to, Leonard wrapped one hand around the man's fist twisting into t-shirt and remarked mildly, "You seem agitated."

Spock's agitation was so great, in fact, he could form only monosyllabic sentences. "Jim. Is. Not. Here."

"Was that a question? It didn't sound like a question." Sighing at the lack of response, Leonard untangled Spock's fingers from his shirt. "Jim's definitely not with me, Spock."

Spock's ire dropped away almost immediately. In its place was something much more frightening: fear, barely managed by Leonard's usually poker-faced employer.

Alarmed, Leonard demanded, "What's happened to Jim?"

"I cannot find him," Spock answered, albeit with a slow heaviness that indicated he thought his news of the apocalyptic variety.

Leonard relaxed. "Oh." He meant _is that all?_

Spock took a step backward, his expression shuttering. "I have disturbed you. My apologies."

Leonard caught Spock's arm as he pivoted toward the door. "Now wait a minute! Spock, Jim's an adult. Just because he's decided to—"

"You know _nothing _about Jim."

A rush of air expelled from Leonard's lungs as if Spock had punched him in the gut. It felt like he had. Leonard's hand dropped away from Spock's arm. "Well, isn't somebody a prissy bitch this morning?" The words came out more snappish than taunting.

"It is not my behavior which is questionable. If you do not consider Jim or his disappearance of importance, waste no more of my time."

"Of course I consider—!" Leonard stalled that, said pointedly instead, "I think your overactive imagination has gotten the better of you, Spock. Jim is probably fine. Hell, knowing him, he's already trying to open the..." Leonard stopped, glanced at a small clock. It was past nine. "Or not." Damn, how long had he been oblivious to the world?

"Do you understand my concern now, Mr. McCoy?" Spock said coldly. "I cannot _find _my employee."

Leonard rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. "All right," he said after a moment. "All right, I'm sorry. Just... give me a minute to change."

Spock turned, his silence unfriendly, and strode for the door. Leonard got there first and planted his hand against the wood to keep Spock from opening it, feeling something faintly volcanic curl just beneath his breastbone. "_I said give me a minute_."

"I do not need your help."

"Well too fucking bad," Leonard bit out roughly. "You've already got it."

Somehow that was the right thing to say. Spock relented, nodding slightly, and let go of the doorknob. In under five minutes Leonard had himself cleaned up (not his personal record but close), and Spock waited for him by the door in the meantime, almost too calmly explaining the details of Jim's disappearance.

Tugging down his new shirt—unfortunately the last clean one McCoy had—Leonard wanted to know, "If he's not at your place or his place or the shop, where the hell are we supposed to look for him?"

Spock's face was once again unreadable. "I do not know but I must continue to search."

Leonard understood. Giving up, even going so far as to ignore the situation, went against the very nature of Spock's affection for Jim.

_Damn it, kid,_ Leonard thought to himself as he followed Spock from the apartment building to a dark-grey car, _what's the matter with you?_ Why would Jim do this to Spock when he knew a vanishing act would freak the man out? _How _could Jim do it?

Leonard wanted to think that Jim simply couldn't. Which meant (and here Leonard's heart started to pound, no doubt mirroring the rapid, fearful beating of Spock's) something bad had happened to their resident trouble magnet.

"What do we know about his friends? Where do they live?" Leonard asked, jerking open the passenger side door and getting in the car.

"Jim has no friends that I am aware of."

Leonard opened his mouth to say _that's fucking crazy_, because Jim was a people magnet as much as he was a trouble magnet, then thought about it. He concluded succinctly, "Shit."

Jim had no friends, and according to the paperwork filed at the hospital, Jim had no family either.

"Precisely," Spock agreed.

Leonard sat in silence inside the car as Spock drove them through the city, turning over a newfound truth about the person he thought he knew, a truth so obvious that he had missed it entirely.

Jim _didn't_ talk about friends or acquaintances or family members. He practically lived at work and there he had Spock and Leonard, whom he always entertained with wild stories of his sordid past, but... a huge gap existed between what Jim spoke of as personal and what he _considered _to be personal. Which was clearly none of what he ever said; not a single detail was private, in a sense, or meaningful.

_My god, Jim has..._

"...been trickin' us this entire time," Leonard murmured to the glass of passenger side window. He voiced a graver question: "Who is James Kirk?"

A voice answered, not Kirk's, but firm and convinced nonetheless. "He is Jim."

"Our Jim," Leonard interpreted Spock's statement softly.

Leonard could accept that, for now. But once he had his hands on the kid, he wanted answers. He really and truly did.

Another voice, of the kind that never spoke beyond the conscience, whispered a silent _Hypocrite_. Leonard ignored it, jumping out of the car as Spock eased to a stop at a street curb. This was Jim's neighborhood, Spock had explained. "I'll take the south," he told the man behind the wheel. "Meet back here in an hour?"

Spock held his eyes for a long moment, weighing something about Leonard. At last he said, "Thank you."

"I'm doing this for you more than Jim," Leonard admitted. _You can't do it by yourself, Spock._

"It only matters that we find him." With that, Spock pulled the car back into traffic to locate a place to park.

* * *

_Bad news_, Jim thought the moment he saw a familiar car swing to a halt about a block from his apartment. Then McCoy got out of the car, leaned down to say something to the driver (who had to be Spock), and Jim decided this was really, _really _bad news indeed.

He hadn't slept last night and so he had taken to prowling the neighborhood once it was light enough to see by. The farther he walked, the clearer his mind had become so Jim had ended up by the river bridge almost four miles away. He had stayed there at the base of the bridge, feeling nothing except the weight of a hard decision, and watched steam from an upriver paper mill curl into the sky. A homeless man napping under the bridge had given him a cursory glance but did not approach Jim, perhaps having seen something familiar in the way Jim was comfortable being so close to the under-belly of the city, to where all things discarded or lost or in hiding found their way.

There had been no answers for Jim's silent questions in that cold, dark place but there had been a peace he craved. Jim left it reluctantly behind when he heard a siren in the distance, remembering too well that this city had no love for listless wanderers. He took a detour then to a small cafe that did not know him by sight (or likely wouldn't remember him). Here, that fateful day Spock agreed to hire him, Jim had lurked until an odd hour of the night, watching and studying the resident barista and everything she did. Maybe it had surprised Spock when Jim had shown some experience in the coffeehouse business but it had also pleased him which was exactly the reaction Jim wanted from Spock. Jim Kirk was the best at making an illusion seem real until that illusion could become reality. The ability, one he cultivated in his youth, was a survivor's skill.

Jim sat in that cafe for nearly two hours, contemplating the other survivor skills he had and how they had carried him from an Iowa farmstead to this city. If he was going to start again, where should he go? Or perhaps the better question was: where hadn't he been?

No answers were forthcoming at the cafe either. Jim put a generous amount of cash into the tip jar on the counter and took to the streets again. Tired yet simultaneously restless, his body seemed to know where it wanted to go—home, to the sparsely decorated bedroom and the pain medication he left there.

That was how Jim came upon the unexpected sight of Leonard McCoy exiting a car and why, reacting on instinct, he ducked into a nearby pawn shop. He nodded to the owner, a grizzly old man who knew him well enough through their occasional transactions, and headed to one of the side aisles where he could look inconspicuous but keep an eye on the street through the shop window. Dragging a hand through his hair, Jim waited for some sign of what to do next. This feeling was familiar, vaguely unpleasant; he was being hunted.

This was the mistake, Jim realized. An attachment, however emotionally superficial it might seem, was always a connection; a connection meant a bond. Spock—maybe Leonard too—would feel he had the right to hunt Jim because of that bond. At another time, Jim might not have minded; he might have thought _here is someone I want to find me. Here is someone I can _trust_ to find me when it counts._

But for that desire, the time had passed in the moment Jim shoved the old duffle bag under his bed instead of returning it to its hiding spot. What was coming for Jim now wasn't kind in the least; it was a monster he had made by wanting too much. It would drive him across the country, dogging his footsteps, until he put his duffle bag away again and promised himself _no more wanting._

The catalyst of why he had broken his vow this time finally came striding by the shop window: long jean-clad legs, an unshaven jaw, a flat press to a mouth that frowned more than it smiled. Jim's heart thudded dully in his chest. Two thoughts crashed together: _here I am!_ and _keep walking, Bones_. He didn't know which had come first.

Then the worst possible thing happened. Leonard stopped, as if he had heard Jim, and considered the neon OPEN sign inside the pawn shop window. Time crawled by in long seconds in which Jim did not breathe. Leonard reached for the door handle, stopped, frowned.

Then he dropped his arm back to his side and kept walking.

Jim blindly shoved a hand against a shelf, rattling miscellaneous items in the process, and focused on standing upright through a sudden wave of dizziness.

"If you're gonna be sick, Kirk," the owner said gruffly from the front of the store, "get outta my shop."

Jim straightened mutely and gave the man a sharp nod. At the door, he scanned the sidewalk for Leonard, shuffling slowly back into the sunlight when he did not see him. It was too easy to skirt along the store fronts and turn into an alleyway. Recalling an alternate route to his apartment, one which Jim had had an opportunity to try more than once in the past, Jim slipped past a dumpster and into a second alley. The route would require jumping a fence or two and scaling an old fire escape to a rooftop. He set his foot on the edge of a stack of wooden crates that he had positioned by the chain-link fence over a year ago and reached up to grip the top wire of the fence.

At the same time he lifted himself up, someone jerked him by the neck of his shirt. Jim slipped backwards, tumbled into his assailant, and let his fighting instinct take over. Drive the elbow into soft flesh, use brute strength to break the hold against his chest, spin around and land the first blow—

His assailant deflected his flying fist with amazing ease and drove Jim back into the fence with a well-aimed shove to his shoulders. Kirk's arms were pinned to his sides.

Jim froze, face-to-face with a looming figure, and drew in a ragged, surprised breath. "Spock?"

"_Jim_," Spock said, and Kirk's name had never sounded so menacing until now.

"Spock," Jim repeated mindlessly, sagging against the fence. "Fuck. _Spock._" His heart was trying to tear itself out of his chest. The world went fuzzy and gray for a moment.

Spock had hauled him forward by the time Jim's vision had cleared (and when did Spock take a liking to manhandling him so?) and was saying darkly, "I plan to kill you, Jim."

So, even Spock had his limits. Jim wasn't going to fault him for that. "Oh, okay. G-Good, maybe, I should—"

"_After_," Spock said abruptly, cutting into Jim's stilted speech, and before Jim could wonder what _after _meant, Spock dipped his head and covered Jim's mouth with his own.

That wasn't the optimal time for Jim to pass out, he would think (much aggrieved) later on, because he would not be able to readily recall what kissing Spock had been like, other than it was an electric shock which could render a man unconscious. Sadly, Spock would not find Jim's cheeky description amusing at all.


	15. Part Fifteen

Jim felt only half-conscious as he limped alongside Spock to his apartment. "You're exhausted," Spock was saying, or accusing him (Jim couldn't tell the difference). "Have you eaten?"

Jim started to speak, aborted that, and settled on shaking his head _no_.

The stony silence which ensued was definitely an accusation. Spock seemed to think Jim was a complete idiot. He wasn't necessarily wrong, Jim had to admit.

He fished a ring of keys out of his jeans and, because his fingers didn't feel like cooperating further, fumbled and dropped it. Spock stooped down to pick the keys up. Jim took the opportunity to lean against the wall by his front door.

If Spock's serious expression was any indication, his appearance must be terrible. To be honest, Jim considered himself lucky to have made it up four flights of stairs on his own two legs. (It would have been ridiculous if Spock had had to carry him. Jim was never above resorting to crawling.)

"I would like to take you to a doctor," Spock confessed softly.

Mutely Jim shook his head. The matter was not pursued, which might have surprised Jim if he wasn't so busy being grateful and lightheaded.

Inside his apartment, Jim let Spock guide him to his bed. He vetoed the man's help to get undressed but did accept a glass of water and a pain pill. Once he had downed the medication and all of the water, Jim finally forced himself to look Spock in the eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You left without an explanation."

"I know."

"You did not call me, Jim."

"I know."

A heavy silence enveloped the room. Jim eased onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The sheet he had hung over his window blocked out a majority of the sun but he could still make out orange streaks of light slowly creeping across his walls.

Eventually Spock spoke again, a voice out of a shadowed doorway. "I will return shortly. Is there anything you prefer to eat?"

"No," Jim answered in a flat tone.

Spock left, taking the key to Jim's apartment with him. Boneless against his mattress now, Jim touched the back of his hand to his mouth and let it linger there.

Spock had kissed him. Hadn't he?

Was it in relief?

Was it in anger?

The man had certainly been vibrating with rage. Jim had never seen him so... uncontrolled.

It was only then, as he dozed on and off, that Jim realized he had done something terrible. In the instant before he took a nosedive toward the ground, he had tried to kiss Spock back.

McCoy was nearby. Shit, McCoy had come _with _Spock to look for him. Of all the ways to betray the two of them...

_You make trouble wherever you go, boy,_ his grandfather had told him once. _Even made trouble trying to come outta your mama too early and look what happened 'cause of that. I ain't sorry for you. It's your own damned fault you ain't got no daddy._

_Don't_, Jim thought. Don't listen to him. Don't listen.

Fighting the elusive beginnings of a nightmare, he came awake and sat up so quickly he cried out from the stab of pain in his side. Jim let himself pitch clumsily over the side of the bed and dragged his duffle bag into his arms. He had his emergency cash; he had everything he needed right here, waiting, ready, saying _don't listen to any of them, Jimmy, don't listen and don't look back._

Not far away there came the sound of a door opening and closing, his apartment door, perhaps what had really woken him. Jim's head swung up at the noise and the footsteps that followed, and he dropped the duffle bag back to the floor, giving it a vicious shove under the bed. He pressed his face to the bed's side, fought down the bile in his throat and climbed back into bed.

Spock checked on him, no doubt thinking Jim was asleep as he tucked Jim's hand under the bed covers. Something with a good smell, probably food from the small diner down the street, tantalized Jim's stomach as it was placed quietly on the bedside table.

Then Spock left again but not indefinitely, Jim knew.

That was the true problem.

* * *

Reconvening after an hour of fruitless searching, Leonard took one look at Spock's face and said, "You found Jim."

Spock nodded. "He's upstairs now."

Suddenly all of Leonard's worry melted into another thing entirely, something which made him take a step backward even as he peered up at Kirk's apartment building. He stared at the rows of windows as though he could delineate which window belonged to Jim's unit. ...Of course. He had known this was how things would play out even though he had made the decision to help Spock, had taken the chance he might be the one to find Jim. "That's good—real good, Spock. Well." He glanced first at the lunch-hour traffic then down the street. "I'll catch the bus or something. You'll want to stay here with him."

A hand caught his shoulder before he could get too far away.

"Leonard," Spock said, standing behind him, a quiet but solid presence, "I want..."

He waited but Spock did not finish. "What do you want?" McCoy asked, turning around. A thought occurred to him, made his heart pound awkwardly. "Do you want me to stay, Spock?"

Those dark eyes had too much in them; a lot of it was need. "Yes."

"I—"

He couldn't. He _couldn't _stay and worse yet he shouldn't have forced Spock to admit that desire because now he had to turn him down. You fucking bastard, Leonard, he accused himself.

"Spock, it's not a good idea."

_What was—why was—_Frozen, Leonard watched Spock's hand in slow motion as it lifted toward his face. But Spock only rested his fingertips against Leonard's cheek, just briefly. Such a simple gesture to initiate an intimate connection to him; it left Leonard unsteady and not knowing why. He fought to control the reaction of his body.

"I understand," Spock told him sympathetically. "You have not seen Jim since that... moment. But you should not be afraid to face him, Leonard."

"I'm not afraid of Jim." The admission had the effect of quieting Leonard's anxiety. "I'm afraid of me."

"Why?"

"Because..." _I'm starting to really want you and Jim, not to just appreciate you from afar. _That thought made him wonder what happened to his dispassion with life. "...I'm good at breaking relationships, not fixing them. It's just not going to work, Spock."

"I will not believe that. If we tell Jim of our feelings—"

The revelation, when it came, startled Leonard. "...You're ready."

"Yes."

He felt a moment of pride but it was short-lived. "I'm glad for you, Spock, but what now? You want to force Jim into _choosing _one of us? That's not going to help anybody!"

"No," Spock said sharply. "That is not my intention. I want—there has to be another way."

"Again with the crazy talk!"

Spock seemed confused. "Why do you insist on questioning my sanity?"

Leonard asked the dear Lord for patience, literally. "Listen, this isn't about your affinity for being out of your mind, this is about approaching a complex situation like _sane_ people should. What good will it do to tell Jim you like him, and that I like him _and _you? What good, Spock? ...Because I fail to see a future where that works out. Be honest. It's better to leave me out of it... or let me tell Jim we don't have a chance together." The thought wasn't a pleasant one but he would do it, regardless.

Spock stepped into his personal space until their breaths mingled. "I intend to explain that I want you _both._"

Leonard needed a long moment to process that bold, somewhat mentally unhinged statement. He shook his head in disbelief and made the quiet exclamation, "You're out of your mind!"

"You have already said that."

"Spock, for god's sake, you don't want me." Forget what happened to me—what happened to _you? _He almost voiced that, almost.

"How can I not when I am capable of little else except thinking about you? You make me angry, Leonard. I see what Jim wants in you. He recognizes something in you that he does not see in himself, something of worth. I thought this made you a better choice for Jim and I did not like it," Spock lowered his voice, "not until I realized what makes you special is not suggestive of a lack on my part. You are, in fact, someone I should desire for myself. What you can give to Jim, you can give to me also. If you are willing."

Leonard closed his eyes. "Is this the part where you tell me I make you a better man?"

"No."

Leonard's eyes flew open in indignation. "Excuse me?"

"You make me willing to share."

Share… Jim? Share his own affection?

"Everything," Spock clarified, as though he had read Leonard's tumultuous thoughts.

"Damn it, Spock," Leonard said, leaning into him instinctively, "you're making this too hard for me."

A hand snuck to the back of his neck and rested there, warm. "My life was not complicated before I met you," the man countered.

Well, was Leonard supposed to swallow his comeback? He didn't think so. "Not complicated, my ass. You were hiding."

Spock pulled back slightly and observed Leonard's face. "You have been hiding as well." His question stretched between them, unspoken: _are you still?_

"You don't know..." _what I've been through, what I've lost._ But he was going to tell Spock, wasn't he? With the man looking at him like that, open and honest and, fuck, _caring_—Leonard felt words rise up from that bitter place inside him. But the words weren't bitter themselves; painful, yes, and haunted but not bitter. Something had changed them.

Leonard swallowed hard. "Spock, if I tell you... but I can't tell you and not tell _him_."

"Then tell us both," Spock said, as if the matter was that simple. "It may ease your burden."

Leonard dropped his gaze and shook his head, his mind already whirling through scenarios. "You can't pity me," he said abruptly. "You _can't _or I'll walk away." He did not consider whether or not he actually could turn his back on them, now that he was in so deep. He'd done it once before, with Jocelyn, and regretted that decision. But it would hurt him to stay and always wonder if he—the poor, pathetic orphan—was only accepted by them out of pity.

Comprehension dawned in Spock's eyes then, that Leonard's life was a tragedy.

Leonard put enough distance between them so his thinking wasn't clouded or disturbed by Spock's unpredictable touches. "Consider yourself warned, Spock. I'm not 'special' like you and Jim seem to think I am. I'm ordinary and miserable and even on my best day too pessimistic to see the glass as half full."

Spock continued to watch him.

Leonard's heart fluttered nervously, caught in his throat. "Do you still want me to stay?"

Spock reached out and silently offered his hand.

Leonard looked at Spock's hand, cursed himself, and clasped it. _This isn't going to work_, he reminded himself and followed Spock to the entrance of the tall building looming over them. But that reminder wasn't as fierce as it might have once been.

* * *

Jim took the food. He put it in his duffle bag (he could eat it later) along with the last of his painkillers and a few other meager items.

He heard them coming. A murmur of a voice—McCoy's. That very familiar baritone in reply, Spock's. And Jim was ready. He was smiling when they came through the door, propped against the far wall with arms crossed and looking alert for all that his skin was as pale as the faded wallpaper.

"Bones," Jim greeted the newcomer.

Leonard halted and looked him over. "You said he was half-dead," the man muttered.

"Jim..." Spock began in that oh-so-menacing _why are you vertical? _way.

Jim raised a hand to stall any protest. He fixed his eyes on McCoy. "She's nice—somewhat of an overly curious individual but nice," he said by way of a conversation starter. At the question in Bones' eyes, Jim amended: "Jocelyn."

All expression dropped away from McCoy's face, leaving it disturbingly blank.

Pain lanced through Jim but not of the physical kind. He ignored it and left the wall to casually cross the room, not limping, giving nothing away. "She told me everything."

Leonard's voice was oddly colorless. "Did she?"

Spock, who was smart enough to sense that Jim had done something unforgivable, moved between them.

Jim gave a slight shrug. "I feel sorry for you, man. It must—" He didn't get to finish the rest of the bullshit he was inventing out of thin air because Leonard turned white, the kind of white that meant Jim might as well have stabbed him instead of spoken.

"Y-You asshole. _Fuck you, Jim_," McCoy whispered and backed swiftly through the door. He was gone in the next second.

"Jim!" Spock was furious.

He swallowed and stared out into the empty hallway. "Go after him," he ordered.

Spock did.

Jim couldn't have planned his escape better.


	16. Part Sixteen

Leonard swept Spock's hand from his arm and kept walking. However, Spock would not be deterred. Eventually McCoy had to come to a halt to address the man's annoying stalker-ish behavior. Didn't he know how it was supposed to work when one of them was pissed?

"Stop following me," he gritted out.

That seemed to have the opposite effect on Spock. Spock herded him to a sidewalk bench and pushed him into it.

Leonard folded his arms and let his displeasure show on his face.

Spock was like a tall, crook-necked bird, watching him with an intent gaze. The longer Spock observed him in silence, the taller he seemed to grow, until Leonard felt almost insignificantly small in comparison. He had to look away; yet that did nothing to help Leonard regain his balance.

"Go away," he said weakly.

"I will leave once I am assured we will see one another again."

That wasn't something he could readily promise, as Spock probably knew by now. But like before, Leonard was excellent at being untruthful. "Sure," he responded in a flippant tone.

"Liar," Spock named him softly.

Leonard did not contradict him, only pressed his mouth into a thin, unhappy line.

"Leonard..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I did not intend to ask about what you clearly cannot speak of."

A bit of guilt touched Leonard's heart. He ignored it and clung stubbornly to his glare. Spock wasn't going to pry, thank god, but that didn't mean Leonard had to offer anything. Never mind the fact he had felt ready to bare his soul only a short time ago. Jim had changed that feeling, destroyed it carelessly.

Spock hesitated long enough to make up his mind about something before he spoke over Leonard's silence. "Jim acted strangely. I cannot comprehend what he meant to accomplish by antagonizing you."

"Isn't it obvious?" Leonard snapped. "He was tryin' to hurt me!" _And succeeded_. Leonard heard an echo of Jim's words and loathed them.

"Yes," Spock said calmly, "but why?"

"Because he's an asshole?" But Leonard closed his mouth after he said that, some of his ire subsiding, and frowned.

"Ah, so you do recognize it. Jim was deliberately cruel. That is not..."

"...typical Jim," Leonard finished. "Yeah, I know. But maybe we don't know 'typical Jim' as well as we think we do, Spock. Has that occurred to you?"

Spock's silence said he had considered the possibility—and likely dismissed it. The man really was a blockhead when in love. Leonard almost felt bad for him.

He stood up. "I get that you will always give Jim the benefit of doubt. I'm not going to condemn you for that, Spock. But you should know Jim warned me a few weeks ago he was goin' to talk to Jocelyn so... I'm not really as surprised as you think. I just wish—" _he hadn't done it and said what he had said afterwards. _He couldn't say that, though, and had to look anywhere but at Spock in order to fight down his disappointment.

Wordlessly, Spock tugged him in close. "Jim has made a mistake. He should have trusted you to tell him."

No apology. No excuse.

"I'm beginning to like you more 'n more," McCoy mumbled against Spock's shoulder.

"You like me to the fullest of your capacity to like an individual. I suspect you even l—"

"Don't say it," Leonard warned him. He pulled back and eyed Spock warily. "You make a lot of assumptions."

Something light and humorous danced through Spock's eyes. "I assume nothing."

"I _don't _like you that much, now that I really think about." And damn it, why was Spock so smug all of a sudden?

"Of course," came the mild reply, which was meant Spock had disregarded Leonard's statement as ridiculous.

Leonard laid his forehead against Spock's shoulder again and relaxed, releasing a pent-up sigh. "Why isn't Jim this easy to handle?"

"Jim has not spent the last month in a continuous state of confrontation with you."

"No, that's your specialty," Leonard remarked dryly. "Though to be fair, Jim has pissed me off once or twice that was nearly on par with your annoying habit. In fact, when he makes me really mad, I want to take a crow bar to his head."

There was a moment of silence, after which Spock said, "...Thank you for not assaulting me with a crow bar, Leonard."

He smiled into the fabric of Spock's coat. "How 'bout we agree to resolve all future disputes in a non-violent manner?"

Leonard could practically feel Spock lifting his eyebrow.

"What would you suggest?"

Several answers came to Leonard's mind. He wondered if Spock could feel the way his face went hot. "...Never mind." He doubted they were ready for an entirely different kind of bantering. It was damned odd that he had been on the verge of starting it.

Unfortunately, Spock seemed to realize his status as attractive had soared to a new level of super-super-attractiveness to Leonard.

"A-Are you nuzzling my hair?"

Spock sighed into said hair. "When you do not smoke, Leonard, your smell is very pleasant."

Leonard's hands clutched at random patches of Spock's coat. "Spock," he said, voice slightly strained, "this is not the best place..."

"Have I made you feel awkward?"

"Nooo, awkward's not the word. But things'll get _awkward _in about half a second. We're in a public place."

Spock's body language changed. He must have forgotten they were on a city block in broad daylight at lunch-time; they had been close to groping each other in front of a bunch of school children. When Spock stepped back, releasing Leonard to stand on his own, Leonard instantly missed him. Then he cut his eyes to the gaggle of school children, of which two young girls were watching them raptly, and cleared his throat. "Maybe we ought to go back?"

Spock studiously ignored the schoolgirls, who had now multiplied to four and had camera phones in their hands. "That would be a wise course of action, Mr. McCoy."

Leonard pivoted and led the way, only moving at a slower gait once they were safely around a street corner. Spock kept abreast of him.

"Do you wish to return to the apartment, or should I take you home?"

Gaze roaming ahead to a distant building, Leonard sighed internally and weighed his options. "The apartment."

Silence. Then, "Are you certain?"

"He wins if I run away," Leonard said. "'Sides, I'd like to know what the hell Jim was thinking coming at me like that. You were right." That last part he muttered, since inflating Spock's ego would only be icing on the cake in light of Leonard's body's embarrassing eagerness.

"As would I." But suddenly Spock stopped walking. "Unfortunately," he added in an odd voice, "I fear we may not have the opportunity to ask Jim."

Leonard looked around them. "What is it?"

Spock indicated a figure some distance away, slinking across a street with a single-minded purpose.

"Where the hell is he goin'?"

Spock's face was pinched.

Leonard grabbed his arm and tugged him in Jim's direction. "I bet the little bastard thinks he's gettin' away. The hell he isn't!" McCoy said hotly. "C'mon."

"Leonard..."

Leonard did not bother to look at the man he was towing to the opposite side of a cross-walk. "None of that, Spock," he said firmly. "We've come too far."

"If Jim doesn't want us—"

Leonard snapped, "Jim doesn't know what he wants! Jim's the goddamn idiot between the three of us. Or the bigger idiot," he corrected grimly. "He said he _pitied_ me—which who the _fuck_ is he to pity _me?_ I've gotten this far without tossing myself off a building, I've fucking gotten _this_ far and I've gotten—I've got—I've got _you_, don't I?"

His words dried up all of a sudden, ending in an uncertain question, because he finally realized what he had been ranting about.

Yet Spock was right with him, not just walking at his side. "Yes, you have me."

Leonard kept his eyes forward but let relief color his voice. "Thank you."

"You can repay me by preventing Jim from catching that bus," Spock said as he increased his stride.

"I'll do you one better," Leonard said, feeling grimly pleased in that moment just before he began to run and hollered down the block, "_Thief_! Somebody get 'im!"

The cop munching on his fresh donut by the bus stop trash can looked up, startled, at Leonard's yell. Leonard waved his arm wildly in the direction of Jim, who had frozen like a statue. Slowly—very, very slowly—Kirk turned around and looked.

"That's him!" Leonard said for the courtesy of the policeman, "He stole my—" Jim had a duffle bag. "—bag, the sonuvabitch!"

The cop looked at his half-eaten donut, no doubt uttering a quiet, heartfelt "fuck my life" and tossed it into the trash can. Then he went for Kirk.

Jim (definitely the biggest idiot of the three of them as Leonard had suspected) paled and ran.

_Shit_, Leonard thought, having miscalculated Jim's reaction. The kid should have faced his accuser with all of his bravado and charmed the cop into locking Leonard up for lying. Instead he _ran_ like a _criminal_. Holy fuck.

Leonard broke into a real flat-out run then, very much aware that Spock had done the same.

* * *

Two hours later, after being jostled and pushed around and generally had his life made hell, Leonard dropped his head back against a cement wall and said, "Well that could have gone fucking better."

Across the jail cell they shared, a prone Jim Kirk remained silent.

Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose and was exceedingly grateful for the first time that his mother wasn't alive. This would have killed her—or had her kill him, quite gruesomely. "Shit. Why the hell did you have to hit the cop, Jim?"

The bench boards squeaked as Jim stirred and draped an arm over his eyes. "Not my fault," he muttered. "He swung at you."

"Because I _swung _at him!"

"Because he swung at me," Kirk finished. "Seems fair."

Leonard tried to make sense of that. His brain failed. He said again, with feeling, "_Shit_."

"Don't worry about it, Bones," Jim murmured. "You didn't really assault him... much. You'll be out in the morning."

On the other hand, Jim had hit the guy once, twice, and was about to keep at it like a wild man until Spock pried him off. Jim definitely wasn't going _anywhere _soon.

Leonard stewed over that because he couldn't very well say _I don't want to leave you here_ or _sorry I sicced a policeman on you._

They sat in silence for the next thirty minutes. Leonard was almost used to the stench of urine wafting from the next cell when a shadow feel across their barred doorway and spoke.

"Woke up with a feeling this morning that I shouldn't get out of bed. If only I'd stayed there." The voice, somehow slightly amused but steel-coated too, said, "Kirk. Get over here."

Jim, who had tensed, relaxed suddenly and sounded on the verge of petulant whining. "I need a wheelchair."

"_Now_." A command.

The door to the cell opened as Jim threw his arm off his eyes and sat up. A man in his mid-forties with hair graying at the temples and laugh lines embedded at the corners of his eyes did not step into the jail cell as Jim sullenly lumbered toward him. Instead he fixed Leonard with a hard stare.

"Who are you?"

Leonard had a feeling this man had already committed his name to memory. "Leonard McCoy, sir."

"Friend of Kirk's?"

"Nope," he said immediately. "A writer. I invent Kirks. I don't befriend them."

Jim said, "Thanks, Bones."

The man, clearly of an authority in the police department, looked Jim over. "You didn't stay out of trouble."

There, finally, was Jim's grin, if only a flash of it. "No, Captain."

"In fact, you punched a tooth out of one of my officers." The man, the Captain, shook his head slightly. "Bad move, Jim."

Jim's shoulders hunched. Leonard stood up and positioned himself next to Jim. He crossed his arms and gave the Captain his best glare.

The man seemed amused again.

Jim's shoulders straightened out as if he had felt McCoy's support. "Can I sit back down, sir?"

"No."

Leonard was about to protest what the fuck right did this asshole Captain have to pick on an injured man like Kirk when, surprisingly, the man turned around and told them to follow him, walking away like he didn't expect anything other than instant obedience.

Jim was already trotting out of the cell when Leonard caught a hold of his arm. "Who the hell is that?" he whispered fiercely to Kirk.

"Christopher Pike," Jim said, not looking at McCoy.

"What's his game?"

"I don't know."

"How do you two know—"

Jim glanced at him then, said abruptly, "You shouldn't have come after me, Bones."

Leonard thought about what to say. He settled on, "Spock doesn't like you running away."

"Spock isn't the one facing an arrest record." Jim pulled his arm out of McCoy's hand and walked down the hallway.

Leonard couldn't argue with that. After a moment, he followed Jim and hoped this Captain Pike was a man with a soft heart. Unfortunately, Leonard had a feeling it was exactly the opposite kind of situation that they faced.

Until, that is, he caught sight of Spock standing in the police station, staring intently at them. Leonard almost forgot he was a newly branded criminal (right along with Kirk) and went to him. Then Pike crooked his finger at Spock and beckoned him to join their intimate little circle in his office.

The first thing that came out of Spock's mouth was "Jim is injured."

Pike did not bat an eye. "How surprising. Now, one of you is going to explain why the hell I am seeing your faces in my precinct. If I don't receive an explanation, I will put you all in the drunk-tank overnight with Billy."

Jim made a choking noise and looked very much like that would be an awful idea.

"It's near the full moon so Billy's probably feeling frisky."

Leonard couldn't decide between horror, curiosity, or disbelief.

Pike continued. "If I don't _like _your explanation, I can guarantee you will be sitting in front of the meanest judge in the county come Monday morning. Your choice," he ended, shut the door to the office and gave them his undivided attention.

To Leonard, the shutting of the door sounded exactly like the slam of their jail cell. He slumped into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands.

* * *

**Well, um. No explanation. But I feel I must point out that this story is still labeled as ****_pre-_****Kirk/Spock/McCoy. I'm really not certain (was I ever?) how far this is going to go. Much love goes out to everyone who has been following along so far.**


	17. Part Seventeen

Jim was mutinously silent, which surprised no one. Spock had settled on relaying the events which occurred after he had spied Jim "leaving the premises without explanation". At the point where Spock began to hint he was responsible for sending the cop after Jim, Leonard butted in.

"The chase was my idea."

The twitch of Spock's eyebrows probably meant he thought Leonard talked too much. Though he ignored that, Leonard shifted somewhat nervously in his chair now that he had come under Pike's scrutiny. "I guess it... wasn't a very good one?"

"Definitely not," Pike remarked dryly. "I suppose you started the fight as well."

Why did Pike make it sound like Leonard was lying?

He bristled. "As a matter of fact, I did." A hint of belligerence seeped into his voice. "I've got a problem with men who think they can beat on a guy because they wear a badge."

The room suddenly felt dangerous. "The way I heard it," Pike said, voice deceptively flat, "Kirk resisted arrest."

"So he gets his insides pulverized by a nightstick?" McCoy snorted and leaned forward in his chair, jabbing a finger at Pike. "Can't say I'm sorry—"

"Bones."

"—that asshole cop of yours got what was comin' to 'im. Damn shame my _first _punch missed."

"_Bones_," Jim bit out warningly.

Pike and Leonard engaged in a very intense staring contest. After a full minute, Pike eased back in his chair but never once broke eye contact with him. "So," the Captain said too mildly, "you do want to go to jail."

Leonard hoped nobody in the room could hear the erratic beating of his heart. "Funny, I thought that's where we already were... _sir_." That last bit of disrespectful sarcasm would without doubt push Captain Pike over the edge.

Instead, Pike smiled.

"Chris," Jim began, "he wasn't the one who—"

"Shut up, Jim," Pike said, still smiling.

Leonard had the sudden suspicion that a smiling Christopher Pike was akin to a warning sign which read _beware, maniac now engaged - hide the cutlery! _Leonard recoiled in his seat a little and pretended he wasn't gripping the chair's arms with unnecessary force. Oh yes, he had definitely stuck his foot in a big pile of shit this time. Why did he always do that?

Leave it to Kirk to never be quiet on command. Jim stood up. "I hit the cop, that's what matters."

Slowly, Pike's gaze tracked to Jim. "Is it?" he asked with equal slowness.

"Yes," Jim replied, fists clenching.

Spock opened his mouth to argue. Leonard reached over and pinched Spock's wrist, strangely aware that some kind of undercurrent was running through the room he and Spock weren't familiar with. And they needed to stay out of it.

Pike was watching Kirk now, his smile not at all an attempt at pleasantness. "Your friend's got a mouth on him."

The curl of Jim's lips was full of dark amusement. "Oh, I know."

"Tell me the reason these two were chasing after you. …And, Kirk? Skip the part where you lie through your teeth."

"It's not your business." Jim was in full stubborn-mode.

Somehow that softened the glint of crazy in Pike's smile. "Son, you made your business my business the moment you put yourself on my radar."

"Believe me," the younger man said grimly, "being on police radar was last thing I wanted when I came to you."

Pike's expression relaxed. "Jim, sit down."

Jim sat, though he didn't look pleased that Pike kept ordering him about—and that he ended up obeying so easily.

Pike picked up a ballpoint pen from his desk and used it the way a schoolmarm wielded a ruler. First, he pointed to Spock. "You seem like the sanest of the bunch so I am not inclined to ruin your clean record by giving you one. You," next he pointed to McCoy, "don't have a prior record either, though God knows why with your tendency to bitch at the wrong people and stick your foot in your mouth. But I would be a hypocrite if I let the smart one go and kept the dumb one."

Leonard sputtered.

Finally he aimed his pen in Jim's direction. "Jim, Jim, _Jim_," the Captain said with a slow, sad shake of his head. "I know for a _fact _you do shit that would put you behind bars. On the other hand, you did voluntarily perform a service for this precinct. Normally I am not given to granting favors..."

Jim looked like he was gritting his teeth. "I don't want a favor from you."

"You _idiot!_" Leonard exploded, because Leonard had been beginning to hope they weren't en route to communal showers with convicted murderers, and leaned over Spock who was in between them to whack Jim on the back of the head. Frustratingly, Kirk had positioned his chair far enough out of Leonard's physical reach. Spock looked resigned to having Leonard draped across his lap, arms flailing in order to do violence to a person.

"As amusing as this three stooges' act is," Pike continued once Leonard had finally given up and returned to his own chair to sulk, "being in the same room with you for more than thirty seconds gives me a migraine." He planted his elbows on his desk and wrapped his hands around his pen. "So I want an answer to one question. Then you can go."

Leonard blinked. Was it that easy?

Pike's eyes settled on Leonard, glinted knowingly. "Don't worry, gentlemen. I have your personal information now and the ability to instate a county-wide manhunt. If I want you back here, there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me from bringing you in."

This Crazy Smile Captain was scary, Leonard had to admit. "What's the question?"

Pike observed Jim. Jim had stilled so Leonard doubted he remembered to breathe. "Why were you running?" Pike asked.

Jim's face lost color. "I was... I n-needed to be any—"

_Anywhere but here, Jim? _Leonard finished that stilted sentence easily enough.

"—to _go _out-of-state," Jim corrected, "for a while."

"I didn't ask where, Kirk, I asked _why_."

Jim said nothing.

Rather than getting angry, Pike gentled his voice. "Is somebody after you?"

Jim gave a miserable "No."

"Don't lie to me about this, son. It's important. You may have helped us catch some small fish but there's still a shark out there, and my sources say he isn't too happy with you."

Some of the color returned to Jim's face. "No lie, sir. My decision had nothing to do with _him_."

Pike's expression said he didn't believe that. "Then why the hell are you skipping town?"

Jim probably didn't mean to but he glanced in Spock and McCoy's direction. That was a fatal mistake, Leonard mused, as Pike looked from Kirk to them and back again, his too-intelligent eyes picking up on details no one else would.

"...I see," Pike said after a moment of silence then resorted to massaging the bridge of his nose with one hand while sighing. Maybe it was possible they _did _give him a migraine.

Leonard almost squirmed in his seat, an urge he suppressed ruthlessly; his need to know, however, could not be suppressed. "What does that mean?" What was there to see?

"It means if this conversation is about to turn into an episode of the Love Boat, I'm not interested. I have paperwork to do and deadlines to meet." To make his point, Pike dragged a manila folder front-and-center on his desk and flipped in open. He clicked the ballpoint pen once and scribbled something under the mug shot of a mean-looking individual. Not looking up, he said, "Get out."

Leonard looked at the door, which Jim had flung open in a matter of seconds and disappeared through like someone had lit a fire under his ass. Spock, at the very least, had a perplexed expression similar to McCoy's.

"Where are we supposed to go?" Leonard wanted to know. At the same time he prayed: Please, God, don't let it be back to that shitty cell.

"Somebody in Booking screwed up," Pike said, barely pausing in his note-making, "and lost your arrest report. Or so I heard."

"But...?"

"_Could be _it never existed, McCoy." Annoyed, Pike finally looked at him and enunciated very slowly, as if Leonard really was the dumb one, "Do I have to say more?"

"No," Spock intervened. "Your assistance with this... incident has been remarkably judicious, Captain—and very much appreciated." Spock latched onto Leonard's arm and dragged Leonard out of Pike's office before Leonard could say anything otherwise.

Leonard shook off Spock's grip as soon as they were in the parking lot. Jim was nowhere to be seen.

"...What just happened, Spock?"

Spock made a beeline for his car. "I would rather we prolong that particular discussion, Leonard."

Spock had a point. Standing within hearing range of every law-enforcement officer in the city was the not the ideal place to determine why Pike had let them walk away without repercussions. Forgoing protest, Leonard slid into the passenger seat of Spock's car. When he glanced in the back, Jim was there, huddled low in the seat with a white-knuckled grip on a dirty duffle bag.

"Jim, how the hell did you...?"

"Get us out of here, Spock," Kirk said. "_Now_."

Wordlessly, Spock complied.

* * *

Leonard thought Spock was going to drive them back to Jim's apartment. Instead they pulled up to a house with a neatly kept lawn and neighborhood children playing down the street.

"Please use the door this time," Spock said as he handed a set of keys to Jim, who slid out of the car and paused long enough by the window to reply by way of his middle finger. Then Kirk stalked up the sidewalk to Spock's front door.

Leonard did not bother to get out. "Does he have a right to be pissed?"

"Our actions resulted in his near-incarceration."

Leonard glanced at Spock, who was watching Jim. "We also prevented him from getting on that bus."

A smile ghosted Spock's lips.

When Jim was officially out of sight, Leonard spoke again. "Who did Pike mean by the 'shark'? ...I expect we ought to be worried about that? I am pretty damn sure he mentioned it in front of us on purpose."

"Undoubtedly."

"To which part?"

"Both." Spock turned to look at Leonard. "Why did he leave?"

Without thinking, Leonard reached over and rested his hand on top of Spock's; it seemed rather natural that Spock turned his hand over so they could entwine their fingers. "Why does Jim do anything without rationale or explanation? He's scared, I think." The moment those words left his mouth, he knew them to be true.

"That seems at odds with his personality."

"Even the bravest man has something to fear," Leonard said.

Spock's thumb brushed lightly across his skin. "What do you fear, Leonard?"

"I thought I feared this. Guess not." Leonard almost smiled but settled for a snort and a faint quirk of his mouth. He was giving too much away already.

Spock's gaze dropped to their joined hands. "This is most unusual. I am not certain I understand it."

"Who says you have to understand something to enjoy it?"

Now Spock was smiling, in that odd way of his where the smile shone more in the heaviness of his gaze rather than the minute lift of his mouth. "You are wiser," he told Leonard, "than I expected."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment, Spock," Leonard drawled, though he knew he failed to look offended.

"It is a statement of surprise—and an admiration I hope you continue to inspire."

Leonard couldn't help it. He laughed. "Who would have thought? I'm wise and you're charming!"

"_That _has to be a compliment," Spock decided and kissed him.

* * *

Jim let the curtain fall back into place and dropped his forehead against the wall by the window. It didn't matter if he was standing here, so obviously in a position of spying, because neither Spock nor Bones looked like they would be coming into the house anytime soon.

They were together.

His attempt to bring them closer had succeeded with swift and impressive results. So why was he this let down? Why should he feel like he had just handed over the most precious possession he had to a thief?

The duffle bag hung heavily from his hand, a reminder of what his options were. Except... he didn't have this option anymore, did he? The cash in his bag was gone, deposited into the pocket of whatever corrupt cop had searched through his belongings. The photo was still there; the clothes, the medicine, and the random bits of nothing that would not mean anything to anyone but Jim. Yet even without the savings, Jim knew he could find his way. He had in the past.

No, it wasn't the money. There was Pike to consider. Pike who would be watching him now that he had been tipped off to Jim's whereabouts and the fact that Jim had an urgent inclination to be elsewhere. Pike, the meddling bastard that he was, had lost track of him once before; Jim doubted the Captain would let that happen a second time.

He had no desire to become a flying monkey for the police department, despite all the supposed perks of being "in the loop". If he became an inside man (that is, a snitch) he was as good as dead. He knew that; Pike knew that. Jim was great at surviving, sure, and he had better instincts for a con than most men, but talent couldn't deter death at the hands of hardened criminals, no matter what protection Pike promised.

Jim had slipped out of Pike's grasp the moment their deal was done (a fucking _voluntary _ deal?—that wasn't how Jim remembered their last interaction at all) and stayed away. By then, he had been desperately craving some semblance of a normal life. Becoming part of a humble coffee shop world, part of _Spock's _world, had seemed wonderful, perfect, like it was meant just for him.

Then he tried to draw McCoy into that same world and—

Voices at the front door. Jim's eyes flew open and he skittered away from the window. He swung around the corner of the living room and flattened himself to the wall in the hallway in the same moment the door opened and closed.

"I'll need to go home sometime, Spock," Bones was saying.

Spock replied, too low for Jim to hear.

Jim took a deep breath, released it, and slunk towards the guest bedroom. He hid the duffle bag under the bed, though it didn't seem like a safe enough place (that would have to be fixed later), and went to the bathroom. He washed his face, composed a somewhat plausible story, and spent an extra three minutes simply looking at the dark circles under his eyes and lines of stress he hadn't noticed before. Then someone was tapping lightly on the bathroom door.

Spock watched Jim carefully as he exited the bathroom. "Leonard has volunteered to prepare dinner."

Jim gave him a tired smile. "Is that a good idea? Do we know if he can cook?"

"We know he will make the attempt, regardless of the results."

Jim sat on the edge of his bed. "I'm not very hungry, Spock. Tell Bones to make it a dinner for two." He almost twitched out of range when, without warning, Spock placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Jim, there are questions I must ask you."

How hard would it be to reach up and tug Spock into bed with him?

Jim ran a hand over his face, mostly to hide his expression of surprise and confusion, uncertain of where that thought had come from.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Spock, I know," he croaked awkwardly. _Please step back, please step back, please step back._

Spock politely accepted Jim's refusal to look at him, removed his hand from Kirk's shoulder, and at last stepped back. Jim felt boneless with relief.

"There is something I must tell you also, once you are properly rested," his friend said solemnly before gliding to the open bedroom door. There Spock paused.

Jim almost cringed in expectation of what else was to come.

"Jim..." Worse than any accusation—it was a plea. "...please stay."

This is why he never announced his intentions beforehand. Spock's soft tone of voice implied fairly clearly that Jim's leave-taking would utterly devastate him. Though it made no sense, Spock had the strange ability to weaken his resolve, to make him doubt even his firmest beliefs. It was, perhaps, the one thing Jim could never quite forgive Spock for, having such a strong effect on him.

After a few heartbeats of silence, Jim told the ceiling, "I'll stay." The promise was so quiet he hoped it might go unheard.

Spock thanked him and retreated, the bedroom door left standing notably open in his wake. Jim curled into a pillow, cursed his life in one instant and fell asleep in the next. If someone tucked the covers over his shoulder at a later point in time, he did not rouse enough to see who it was.


	18. Part Eighteen

**Part Seventeen was posted yesterday. Please read it first if you have not!**

* * *

Jim stayed dead to the world well into the next day. At one point Spock had looked like he really, really wanted to wake Jim up and so Leonard had obliged him by "accidentally" knocking over a few miscellaneous items (the reasonably unbreakable kind) but Jim didn't even stir and kept snoring softly into his pillow.

After that, rolling his eyes at Spock's dismay (which probably had more to do with the mess on the carpet and not Jim's condition), Leonard had suggested they simply let him sleep and go about their lives. This meant, mainly, opening the shop; Leonard could tell Spock was uneasy about closing the business for another day and also that he was torn between that unease and the unease over Jim, who could very well pull a Houdini the moment they took their eyes off of him. Leonard talked some sense into the man:

"You're losing money every day you don't open, and Jim will blame himself for that because he's the kind of fool who tries to carry the world on his shoulders so God doesn't have a job to do."

Spock always found his sayings overly dramatic but amusing nonetheless. Regardless, he conceded Leonard's point. They agreed that they would let Jim be for the day (granted, with Spock periodically coming back to the house to check on him; Leonard had rolled his eyes at that clause too) and focus on work.

Leonard tried not to think about the fact that he didn't go home last night. Mostly he failed because he had wound up awkwardly sharing a bed with Spock and pretending he wasn't at all freaked out by it. Exhausted by the time the alarm clock said midnight had arrived, his brain finally gave up its mindless circling and Leonard slept. He will never know if Spock had the same problem. Spock, it seemed, was the quietest bedmate in the universe. Leonard had irrationally feared Spock had expired at some point during the night because he couldn't tell if the man was breathing.

How fun would that have been, waking up next to a dead man in the morning? (Leonard had always had a penchant for morbid thoughts.)

They had breakfast—Spock made wonderful omelets, as it turned out—and spent a good half an hour peering at the sleeping Jim. Then Spock showered and dressed and they left the house together. Spock took Leonard to his apartment, and Leonard cleaned himself up before heading over to the coffee shop. All-in-all, it was an uneventful day.

Until, that is, Leonard realized Spock was under the impression Leonard was going to return to his house after closing, and Leonard had to turn him down. Sadly, that conversation did not go as well as it should have.

Spock might have looked hurt and Leonard might have explained rather poorly that it wasn't like they were _dating _or anything and he needed some time to sort himself out. What he didn't say was that he still disagreed with Spock's plan to tell Jim about their ridiculous love triangle and somehow, through all of Leonard's blustering, Spock heard these words anyway. Suffice to say, Leonard had made Spock angry again (that seemed to be a recurring theme between them) and, in a wake of cold silence, Leonard was left to his own devices.

He was pretty damn certain they weren't going to figure out how to balance what they wanted with what could realistically be achieved. In Leonard's experience, the two things were definitely mutually exclusive. The thought, however, made him morose.

This is the state he was in when he sat down at his writing desk and this is how, for the first time in _years_, he began to tell a story that had meaning. He could have wept with unabashed joy, except that the words kept coming, a torrent of them, and Leonard had no time for anything other than committing every single consonant and vowel to paper. When, in a darkness only broken by the dim streetlights through his apartment window, his eyes were too strained to focus on his notebook Leonard finally dropped his pencil from numb fingers and sat back in his rickety chair. He didn't re-read what he had written, despite that half of it was insane and the other half would make an editor pitch it in the trash immediately and therefore one-hundred percent of it needed to be revised. Leonard staggered to his couch and sank into its relatively uncomfortable cushions to brood.

But the brooding didn't occur because, of all things, Leonard was happy. He was centered and light and so _completely _content he was grinning down at his stiff fingers like they had performed a miracle.

His muse had come back.

* * *

Jim slept for one day and ate three days worth of skipped meals when he awoke. Spock briefly considered if he could feasibly support a partner who could consume one-third of his bodyweight in food in a single sitting. By that point, once Jim had eaten Spock's last gluten-free health bar (which Kirk claimed tasted of cardboard even as he shoved the entirety of it into his mouth), Spock resorted to ordering Chinese takeout. He predicted Jim would suffer a severe bout of indigestion later on and stopped by the drugstore on his way home in preparation for it.

Jim, fully sprawled across the living room couch, had a satiated expression when Spock returned with a large order of lo-mein in hand. Spock carefully placed the Chinese food on the coffee table and glanced around the room. Then he spied something that made no sense whatsoever and, in the awful silence of the room, asked as calmly as he could of his house guest, "Jim, did you eat my pet bird?"

Jim blinked his eyes open. "What?"

Spock went swiftly to the empty cage which housed his cockatoo and stared at its open door. "My mother gifted him to me," he said with great dismay.

Jim, so full was he, had to roll himself into a sitting position. "Oh, I let him out. Isn't he allowed to fly around the house?"

"Yes," Spock said. He always checked that certain doors and windows were closed before loosing his bird, however. Somehow Spock doubted Jim had thought that far ahead.

"Waaait," Jim said now that his sleepy brain was catching up, "did you just accuse me of _eating a bird_?"

Spock assumed the question was rhetorical and began to check the house room by room. He started with his bedroom, first closing off the master bath and then inspecting his closet for errant fowl. The cockatoo liked to nest in shady areas, which inevitably would bode ill for Spock's attire if he got into the closet.

Jim tagged along after Spock, talking all the while. "Sorry about the granola and the peanut butter... and that rice stuff. …Uh, the tofu—you weren't saving that, were you? It looked kind of close to being expired so I thought you wouldn't mind..."

It had been close to its expiration date. "I brought medicine," Spock said absently, closing his bedroom door and checking a hallway closet.

"I should probably take you grocery shopping," Jim continued somewhat sheepishly.

"Agreed," Spock murmured. The bird was not in Jim's room either.

"Hey, are we looking for your, um, I kinda don't know its name?"

Spock hurried to the dining room to inspect the chandelier. "I have not named him."

Jim dutifully went to check behind the window curtains. "Why haven't you named him? Oh, how about Pete!"

It was highly doubtful the cockatoo was hiding in the drapery, but Spock did not mention this. "A pet does not require a name," he said instead. They moved on to the kitchen.

"A pet _totally _requires a name, Spock. Unless its name is IT. Don't know if you have a thing for sewer clowns..."

Jim made the strangest references. But Spock's attention was more focused on the flash of white and yellow he spied out of the corner of his eye.

"There you are, Petey!" Jim cried when Spock cracked open the pantry door. "Who's a naughty bird?" he cooed.

Spock deftly caught Jim's hand and removed it out of range of the cockatoo as it snapped its beak at the air. The bird gave Spock a baleful glare, no doubt irritated a fleshy chuck of finger to bite upon had been taken away.

"Wow, he made a mess."

Agreeing with a sullen chortle-squawk, the cockatoo resumed peaking at a mauled blue box. Jiffy Cornbread Mix covered the length of the pantry shelf.

Spock held out his wrist and whistled sharply, just once.

The bird stopped what it was doing—making a bigger mess than before—and looked at Spock. Then it leapt for his wrist and clung there.

"Whoa, whoa," Jim was saying enthusiastically as Spock led the way back to the bird cage, the cockatoo noisily complaining on his arm, "how did you do that, man? You're like the bird whisperer!"

Spock said nothing as he deposited his long-time friend back in its extremely spacious cage and latched the door.

Jim poked a finger between the bars. "Can you understand him too? What's he saying?"

"That he would like to remove your finger from your person."

The cockatoo flew to the branch nearest Jim's waggling finger and leaned toward it. Jim wisely withdrew his appendage from the cage.

Spock would have sighed if he was inclined to sighing. "Jim, he has regularly scheduled outings. Please consult me in advance if you wish to let him move freely through the house."

"All right." Jim switched between watching the bird to watching Spock, as if he was far more interesting. "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded slightly.

"Are you angry at Bones?"

He did not know if he should answer that. Certainly if he was honest...

"Why, Spock?" Jim pressed, wanting to know.

"Is my issue with Mr. McCoy relevant at this moment?"

Jim turned to pace to the couch. There he stopped abruptly, turned back, his expression restrained. Restrained from what emotion, Spock could not guess.

"It's relevant if I'm the reason you two are fighting."

"You are not the reason."

Jim's gaze sharpened. "Did you just lie to me, Spock?"

"No," but he hesitated over how to explain. "Leonard and I are not... certain of what we desire from one another. It causes conflict between us."

For a long moment Jim was eerily quiet. At last, when he spoke again, he said something quietly. (Something unusual.) "Wanting is the easiest thing in the world, Spock. Knowing you can't have what you want is the worst. For that, I am sorry."

"Why should you apologize?"

Jim looked away from him then. "Because whether you admit it or not, I am the reason behind your unhappiness. I _am _the problem." His smile was humorless and directed inward.

Spock made a snap decision. He had wanted to wait until he could do this with Leonard, until the three of them could finally face each other and work through their misconceptions, but this opportunity might not present itself so easily again. "Jim, what I must tell you—"

"I already know," Jim intervened unexpectedly, face composed once again.

The ground seemed to shift under Spock's feet despite that nothing physically moved in the room. "You… know?"

"Yes—which is why you shouldn't have kissed me."

He took a step backward without meaning to.

Jim was looking at him and it wasn't—it wasn't with _want_. It was with sympathy. _Pity._

Spock suddenly understood Leonard's hatred for the emotion. Something painful dug into his heart and twisted there.

"I'll pretend it never happened," Jim was telling him kindly.

This is every fear he ever had, every trepidation, every doubt. He had been wrong, very _terribly _ wrong—and very terribly right too, unfortunately, because Jim was trying his best to let Spock down gently with none of the harsh words like _I can't love you_ and _why are you trying to ruin our friendship with your infatuation?_

"Forgive me," he said, forcing the words from his mouth. Oh, how they hurt.

Jim looked so sad. Spock felt worse because of that, even with his heart smashed to pieces at Jim's feet.

"Forgiven, Spock." Jim sat down on the couch, in sort of a slump, and smiled wanly at the carpet between his bare feet. "Always forgiven."

Spock could only nod, and it was an insignificant motion at that. He lifted the Chinese takeout cartons from the coffee table and took them to the kitchen, where he stayed until his hands no longer shook of their own accord. Jim, for this part, had retreated to his room and not another word was said between them for the remainder of the day.

* * *

Leonard stepped into a world he had forgotten when he slunk into an old bookshop on a quiet Sunday. Within minutes, he found himself in a shallow cave so full of shelves that he barely fit among the books unless he hunkered down on a stool. The experience was glorious: Leonard riffled through palm-sized tomes and giant picture books that draped over his knees; he inspected typeset that formed its own language; he carefully, and quite happily, pried at stuck-together pages stiff from years of disuse.

So many words shared; so many of them lost, only to be rediscovered decades later. Leonard savored them all.

It had been a long time since he had met with the kind of dust bunnies who habitually made friends with old paper, and his nose reminded him of that half an hour later, quite loudly. A young voice chirped somewhere at his back, "Bless you!"

Almost reluctantly, Leonard emerged from a story about two kings at war over a bride (who wanted neither of them) and craned his neck around a stack of Life magazines, each preserved in its own plastic cover. A girl, who looked no older than thirteen, smiled shyly at him. In her arms were a bundle of spine-worn paperbacks. Leonard asked kindly, "Do you need some help?"

Color rose in her face. She did not say yes but, watching her juggle the books, Leonard read her unspoken desire easily enough. He tucked the small brown hardcover under his arm and squeezed out of his hideaway.

"These yours?" he questioned as he took ten or so novels into his own arms. Reading a title Leonard grinned a little. Maybe he should dedicate some time to this _Cove of Wantonness_, whose cover artist had depicted a busty redhead baring her neck for kisses to a roguish man in a pirate hat.

She shook her head vigorously in the negative, as if the very idea was appalling. "I'm just putting them out!" The girl pointed to a bookshelf across the store with more romance novels spilling out of every nook and cranny. Obediently Leonard followed her through a winding path to that section. Together, they contemplated how they might add more books to the pile without toppling the entire structure.

"Oh, whatever," the girl huffed. She dumped her armful on the floor.

Leonard squatted and set his selection down. "So you work here," he said, which wasn't too difficult to guess.

"Only in the summer, thank god, when my parents pawn me off on Grandpa" came the slightly surly reply, coupled with an eye roll. The girl stared at him then, unrepentantly. Her voice developed a hint of coyness. "Is it hot in here to you?"

"I suppose," he drawled, scratching idly at his stubbled chin. "All of this paper makes for good insulation." Knowing how to deter her interest without harming her ego overly much, Leonard added politely, "Middle school, right?"

Her response, like her sudden change of expression, was withering. "_High _school. I'm fourteen." The teenager gave him a dismissive flip of her hair, no doubt feeling better for it, and skirted around him to do whatever her job (or her grandfather) demanded she do. Leonard picked up a random romance paperback and read its back cover. Smiling without knowing why, he took the book back with him to his little cave of literature and added it to his growing stack of purchases.

* * *

The man behind the ancient cash register was older than Leonard by at least four decades, gray hair sparse and wispy upon his head and a pair of thin-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. He said, as Leonard approached the counter, "So my granddaughter didn't scare you off after all."

He gave his books over to the shop owner. "Was she supposed to?"

"Only if you looked like you had no money."

Leonard chuckled and pulled out his wallet. "We're okay there." Then he eyed his many, many purchases and amended ruefully, "Maybe."

"I suspect I can think of an appropriate discount if not."

"Thank you," Leonard said with feeling.

Now the owner chuckled. "I recognize a fellow bibliophile when I see one." He peered at Leonard over the rim of his glasses for a long minute. "Hmm, come to think of it, you look familiar. I'm good with faces, terrible with names. Been here before?"

Leonard frowned slightly as he glanced about his surroundings. "...Could have, I guess." A thought occurred to him. "Do you buy books?"

The man pointed to a flyer which announced that the shop certainly did.

A touch of melancholy dimmed Leonard's good mood. "I sold a few first editions a while back." When he had been not only desperate for money but so depressed it didn't matter that he gave away his prized collection. He had had a brief notion if he didn't have to look at them, he would feel better, less guilty. It hadn't worked.

The owner continued to stare at him thoughtfully and named a few titles. "Those the ones?"

Leonard tried not to grimace. "Yes."

"If that's the case, son," the kind-faced grandfather said, "then it's no wonder I had a hard time placing your face. You look a sight better now than you did back then. Like a different man."

He almost said, _I am a different man._

Instead Leonard simply nodded and paid for his purchases. That thought had struck a chord in him, a memory, and he wasn't ready to consider it yet. If he did—no, _when _he did—he would have to admit Jim Kirk had been right after all.

Outside of the bookshop, Leonard set his bag of books on the sidewalk, unearthed a somewhat crushed cigarette pack from his jacket pocket, and smoked his first cigarette in six days.


	19. Part Nineteen

**...No key-smashing, please. XD**

* * *

On Monday morning, Leonard cut his eyes at the ever-stoic Spock and gave in. He waited until Jim—who was moving between the espresso machine and an array of blenders with confidence once again—was preoccupied with a customer before discreetly signaling his employer. Spock looked at him, not blinking, not even twitching an eyebrow (which was odd enough) and so Leonard mouthed "Can we talk?" and motioned to the back room.

Spock followed him rather slowly through the swinging door.

In the silence of the kitchen, for the moment Leonard put aside what he wanted to say and surveyed Spock from head to toe. "You... look kinda terrible. Are you sick?"

"No." Spock stared over his shoulder, a vague expression on his face.

He felt Spock's forehead anyway. "What's wrong?"

"I am well."

_You look like somebody just died._ Was this because of him? Leonard crossed his arms in defensive habit and leaned into Spock's line of vision until the man couldn't ignore him. "Hey," he said softly, "I'm sorry about before, Spock. _Really _sorry."

At first it seemed his apology hadn't penetrated whatever haze had entrapped Spock; then a slow awareness came into the man's eyes. In the next moment, Leonard was in his arms—or rather, Spock was in _his _arms, folded inward like a distraught child, his face pressed against the top of Leonard's shoulder.

Leonard didn't think. He simply tightened the hug and put his hand against the back of the man's neck. "…Spock?"

Spock didn't try to talk, or couldn't.

"It's something awful, isn't it?" he whispered, his heart beginning to race. "Oh god."

What could break a strong man like Spock?

Spock managed Leonard's name eventually. It sounded small, painfully emotional.

"It's okay," Leonard said quickly, "if you can't talk about it now. Don't worry, Spock. I'm right here. I'm here for as long as you need." Was it one of Spock's parents? Leonard wasn't even certain if Spock's father was alive, considering that Spock only spoke of him in the past tense.

Did Jim know?

...If Jim did, that begged the question why Kirk was so blithely business-as-usual, as though Spock wasn't obviously and disturbingly unbalanced.

Leonard really didn't want to let Spock go as the man drew away with exaggerated care. "What can I do?"

"There is nothing you can..." Spock faltered, corrected himself. "Will you watch over Jim? I—I need—"

"Of course," Leonard said hurriedly. "Everything'll be fine upfront. I'll make certain of it."

"Thank you."

Leonard watched worriedly as Spock walked to his tiny office and shut the door, effectively telling Leonard he wanted nothing more than to be alone with his pain. Running a faintly unsteady hand through his short hair, Leonard pivoted on the ball of his foot and left the kitchen area. He tried to find an opening to pull Jim aside and ask what happened over the weekend, but the entire city seemed to sense Jim was back in charge of all things caffeinated and customers flocked into the shop to get their usual (or not so usual) cup of coffee and a healthy dose of flirting from one James T. Kirk. It was all Leonard could do to keep track of the receipts and the influx of cash and to ward off the too-friendly advances of those who jealously wanted too much of Jim's attention.

By the time he and Jim had a lull in which to question their life choices—Leonard certainly was, especially when his feet ached this badly—Spock had been holed up in his office most of the day and Jim was the kind of tired that meant his jokes were just marginally off-kilter. Leonard tugged him to a chair and ordered, "Sit."

Jim accepted a cup of warm apple-cinnamon cider (unfortunately the non-alcoholic kind, much to the consternation every properly Southern man), inhaled its steam deeply and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Bones."

"Damn, I forgot to remind you to take your pill."

"And I forgot to make you a sandwich for lunch." Jim paused, added thoughtfully, "Actually I think I just forgot about lunch, period."

"You and me both, kid." Leonard glanced around and counted the number of customers in the shop. There were four, and all had been served. He sighed, dragged out a chair next to Jim's and sat down. "Spock's gonna kill me."

"Mm," Jim said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Headache?"

"Probably because I haven't eaten."

"You seem to get 'em a lot."

Jim looked up and smiled disarmingly. "Do I?"

Leonard let his expression speak for itself.

Jim relaxed. "It's a thing," he admitted. "Headaches since childhood. What can you do?"

"That better have not been rhetorical, Jim. You go to a doctor, for one thing."

"I love doctors," Jim said sarcastically.

"Oh, I know the feeling. My love for doctors is rivaled only by my love for shrinks."

Jim looked intrigued. "Do you have a therapist?"

_Should have, probably. _Instead, he answered, "I've had one on speed dial since the day I met you."

"_Ouch_, Bones."

Leonard half-expected the usual flirting to commence, now that he and Jim were actually having a conversation, but the tell-tale sign of Jim's charmer's personality only peeked out for a quick moment... then vanished altogether, as if Jim had caught himself just in the nick of time. So it was with some surprise that Leonard watched a silent Jim drink his cider and pretend to be interested in a napkin holder.

What was going on?

First Spock with the near-breakdown (Leonard still felt slightly panicked thinking about that) and now Jim—reserved, cautious Jim. A Jim who knew something and didn't plan to tell Leonard, perhaps?

"What happened?" McCoy demanded of his companion.

Jim stopped picking idly at a napkin corner. "What do you mean?"

"I'm gone—for what?—_two_ days, and everybody's off their rocker! That, or the goddamn mayor announced an imminent apocalypse and I'm _the only one who missed it!_"

"Uh, Bones..."

Who the fuck cared if people were staring? He could raise his voice if he wanted to! "So you'd better tell me what the hell is going on, Jim, because—here's a newsflash of my own—I'm not walking on eggshells. Not. _Ever. _Again."

Jim had reached across the table to grasp his wrist, which might have flailed about once or twice to emphasize his ire. "Bones, what you are talking about? Are you okay?"

Of course he was okay! He was only, well, hyperventilating a little. Which was perfectly natural. Spock had particularly cried on his _shoulder_.

Shit. Spock and crying.

Leonard suddenly remembered that, as a man who cared about Spock, he definitely had the right to tear the heart out of the fucker had torn out Spock's.

Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Spock could—and would, Leonard imagined—handle any bad news like the well-adjusted, moderately stable individual he was. But Spock couldn't help his vulnerability when it came to the subtler heart-bruises, like emotional rejection or childish belittling. Hell, Spock half as much admitted he didn't have experience with intimate relationships and he didn't quite understand how they worked.

Jim was waving his hand in front of Leonard's face.

"What?" Leonard snapped, annoyed. Then he focused on Jim, truly focused on him for the first time—and saw the missing piece to the puzzle. Spock really only wanted acceptance from one person.

"Jim," he began, voice deadly calm, "what did you do?"

Shaking his head, Jim started to say, "Bones, I'm not certain I follow—"

"To Spock. What did you do to Spock?"

Jim clammed up, sat back in his chair, and possibly paled.

Leonard felt anger rising in him anew. He stood so he could lean over the table. "I'll have you know, Kirk, if you rip out his heart, I'll rip out yours."

When Jim opened his mouth, a hot anger to match Leonard's flashing across his face, Leonard warned, "Don't say a word. Not. A. Fucking. Word. Now, I'm gonna go into the back and clean up your mess. If Spock wants to forgive you, that's his choice, but just so we're clear, you and me—if you don't want _him_, you don't get _me_."

It all made sense in that moment: the package deal. But Leonard couldn't care about what he was saying, didn't _want _to care, because he was so, so close to exploding into a violent rampage. If he knew it wouldn't cause more difficulty in the long run, he would take this wooden chair under his hands and smash it against the floor until the pieces were too small to be destroyed. Instead, McCoy leashed that vicious urge and walked away. A gaping customer quickly moved out of his path; people no doubt flinched when he punched his fist into the swinging door to open it.

If Leonard's frame of mind had been a little less volatile, he might have questioned the shock on Jim's face. As it was, he had only one purpose in mind.

In the kitchen, Spock was standing a few feet from the door, his pale face clearly marked with indecision and the weight of an unspoken grief.

"If you heard that," Leonard said, "you'll know I'm not sorry."

Spock looked at him, seemed to struggle with a word. When it came, Leonard's blood boiled over.

"...Jim..."

"Fuck Jim! Fuck his stupid, two-faced self! He doesn't _deserve you_, Spock—"

"Leonard, Jim is—"

"—and that's no big fucking wonder! Has he ever even noticed you _worship _the ground he walks on? My god, man, I've never seen an idiot with his head so far up his ass—and he can't even deem to love you a little bit in return?!"

"Jim," Spock said in such a way that it finally dawned on Leonard Spock wasn't just mindlessly repeating the name.

The words stopped flooding from Leonard's mouth like someone had shut off a spigot. He turned. Jim was there, in the doorway.

It occurred to Leonard then he might have been a little more vehement than was necessary in his ranting.

Jim fully slipped inside the room and closed the door with a gentleness that belied the palpable tension in the air. Spock suddenly looked very ill, indeed. Leonard backed up slightly, until he was level with Spock, and thought maybe this was a good position to catch the man should he pass out.

Leonard had a good poker face, but Kirk's was better. He couldn't tell what Jim was thinking or feeling or even planning to do next. Jim just looked at them, looked at them for so long that Leonard inevitably burst out with "Well, what the fuck are you staring at?"

Jim switched his focus solely to Spock, who kind of—very, very minutely—swayed on his feet. Leonard grabbed his hand.

What was he supposed to do? Support Spock or punch Jim? Now Leonard was confused, and that was odd, given he had been extremely clear-headed about the matter a minute ago.

"You're with Leonard," Kirk said.

Spock couldn't very well deny it with Leonard clutching his hand. He nodded.

"You kissed me. It wasn't…" Jim did not finish what he intended to say, as if he had difficulty making sense of his thoughts.

Leonard almost said "He did?", thought about the statement for a split second, and asked the man at his side, "Was he better?"

A jolt ran through Spock.

Leonard tugged on Spock's hand. "Well, was he?" He knew instinctively the question would help Spock regain some of his equilibrium.

Spock murmured, "I was unaware you required me to perform a comparison."

"Then I guess you don't want to know how you compared to _Jim_."

A spark came into Spock's eyes, replacing their dull sheen. "You will tell me."

"Nooo," Leonard said, even though it hadn't been a request, "don't think I will."

Jim, who had hitherto been watching their exchange in silence, made a strangled noise. He muttered, "Excuse me" and exited through the swinging door hastily.

Spock deflated.

Leonard squeezed his hand. "It'll hurt less in time," he said softly, sympathetically. "...And I meant it earlier when I said I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to face him on your own. I messed up, Spock."

Spock tightened his grip on Leonard's hand. "This has happened again," he said, lifting up their joined hands to inspect them.

"I'm going to be so, so severely disappointed if you're not a hand-holder," he commented dryly.

Spock said nothing because he didn't need to. He pointedly didn't let go of Leonard's hand.

When, however, Spock looked at the door that separated them from Jim (or wherever Jim had run to), Leonard felt true disappointment. His anger had fizzled out unexpectedly, which was for the better he supposed since anger had never served to make Leonard's life easier in the past; but in its place was something much more depressing.

"I'm right here," he reiterated this morning's assurance to Spock, "and if you'll just let me stay, maybe I can—"

Jim exploded through the doorway, almost stumbling in his haste. His face was unusually red. "...Customers...gone...now," Kirk panted. When Leonard and Spock simply stared at him, Jim straightened somewhat and absently rubbed his arm, like he had banged it against a table or a chair in passing.

His eyes glittered oddly.

"Shit," Leonard said, because Jim appeared a little too manic and that look never boded well for anyone.

Spock, on the other hand, seemed to have figured out something Leonard had not. He asked Jim with perfect calm, "Did you lock the door?"

Kirk pulled a set of keys out of his jeans' pocket and dropped them to the floor. Smirked.

Leonard suddenly felt he had reason to panic, and did.


	20. Part Twenty

**Part Nineteen became collateral damage of my war with LJ the night before last, and to those of you who read it on my journal I am deeply sorry. It's fixed. Now... onto the rest of the story. I am close to end-dating this fic. I have no more patience for these boys and a great fear as well, because this story is already over 50k in length. Obviously this is the trouble I get for exploring the world behind a one-shot!**

* * *

There are many ways to start a story. Sometimes the author has to eke out the details from the beginning. Other times, it's easier to jump into the middle and work backwards. But when Leonard put his pencil to paper, neither of these things happened. He found the ending first. It spoke of a close camaraderie between three individuals who worked together day in and day out. They had a very strong bond, and a beautiful one at that; Leonard knew, as he translated actions and emotions into words, it was a real thing, not a fantasy. These men existed somewhere else, though perhaps solely inside his head, but they existed and they had stories and he was the person designated to tell those stories.

What Leonard McCoy didn't quite understand yet was _why now_.

As he watched Jim's expression alternate between disbelief and hope, both equally painful to see, Leonard had this thought. Could it be he was building a story, not unlike the one he had written, at this very moment? Was he essentially creating the _same _story for himself?

No, he decided.

Fiction was exactly that—fiction. It could be the strongest of a man's dreams and the worst of his nightmares. It could be _anything _and this...

This was nothing. For the sake of nothing, Leonard had gotten two men involved in a story he couldn't finish, that had no place being real.

So he pulled his hand out of Spock's and said what he had been saying all along: "This isn't going to work."

"What isn't...are we...? It's not going to work?" Jim finally settled on. His bravado had been short-lived; now it was caving in on itself in the face of McCoy's doubt.

Spock reached for Leonard's hand again. He stepped out of range, panic tightening his lungs until it was hard to breathe.

"Jim," Leonard said with real regret, because these words had to be heard, "I didn't mean for you to think that—" He swallowed. "—we were making you an offer."

Spock made a sharp movement, a sign of denial. "No. We are making an offer to Jim."

Leonard shook his head. "_You _are, which is good, but I'm not, Spock. I told you that before."

"Do not do this," Spock's voice warned Leonard.

"I'm doing the only thing I can," he said hollowly, "because I don't believe this can work."

"Then you have lied to me," Spock accused him, no longer sounding colorless or heartbroken but _angry_. "You gave me the impression you cared about what I wanted to achieve."

"I do care!" This was probably a perfect example of why it couldn't work between them. Leonard had a knack for ruining Spock's happiness. "Damn it all to hell, Spock, why do you think I'm telling you to move forward with Jim?"

"That's not what you told me, Bones." Jim tried interrupting.

He ignored the other man, saying to Spock, "Take the chance and don't be a fool."

"You said," Jim caught Leonard's shoulder and he hadn't seen Jim move into position to flank him, "if I don't want Spock, I don't get you. If that's not an offer, then why did you say it?" His tone was soft but still demanding an answer.

"When you put it like that, Jim, it sounds like you're making a concession to be with Spock in order to have me."

Jim didn't even flinch. "The words 'concession' and 'Spock' don't belong in the same sentence. I want him for himself and no other reason. I want _you _too, Bones."

"What you wanted," Leonard reminded him, only feeling slightly guilty about it, "was to get away from us both."

A shadow of an emotion, maybe fear, passed over Jim's face. "I didn't think I could be a part of what you and Spock have. But you said differently, you _said _it and I didn't imagine it." His voice begged for this be to true.

Leonard closed his eyes to block out the desperation in Jim's eyes. "I really don't understand you, Jim."

Jim took a hold of his other shoulder like he could make Leonard understand him by bringing them closer together. "Bones... Bones, please."

When had Spock moved to his opposite side? They were effectively boxing him in now, Jim and Spock, with the long steel kitchen table at his back. This was bad. He had put himself in a vulnerable position. Maybe he had always been in a vulnerable position, from the moment he met them.

Leonard kept his eyes closed and said nothing, faintly hoping this entire situation might disappear. But something, or someone, had to give.

Jim touched their foreheads together. How was he content to lean into Leonard this way?

"It's not going to work," Leonard said faintly.

"It's not guaranteed to work," Jim replied, "but nothing ever is."

Voice a little stronger, he countered, "It's not going to last."

"Nothing lasts," Spock agreed.

"No one," Leonard corrected and shook in momentary pain. Then he released a sigh and opened his eyes. "Can you give me some time to think?" He needed that because Jim was onboard with this crazy idea and Leonard had never, ever thought that would happen. And unlike Kirk, he didn't want to jump in half-cocked. He didn't have Jim's miraculous luck for surviving that kind of thing.

Jim pulled back with a light sigh of his own. He looked to Spock with a question in his eyes. Spock, it seemed, had need a few seconds to tear his eyes away from his fingers, which were skating the length of Jim's neck and shoulder. If Leonard didn't know better, he had would say Spock was dazed by simply being able to touch Jim without restraint. It must be a wild fantasy come true.

"Time..." Spock said contemplatively. He removed his hand from where it had been exploring the short hairs at the back of Jim's neck and focused on Leonard. "Yes, within reason."

"How generous of you," Leonard said dryly. "How long do I get?"

"Not too long, Bones."

"I need to talk to somebody," Leonard admitted. "Someone who isn't as biased as the two of you on the matter."

Amusement flickered through Jim's blue eyes. "Is that so? Hm. Spock, what are the odds of us letting Bones go and Bones coming back?"

"If I withhold his upcoming paycheck until his return, the odds are in our favor."

"That's illegal!" Leonard resisted the urge to shove Jim when Kirk laughed delightedly.

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "You may report me to authorities if you wish."

Hell no. The less interaction any of them had with Pike, the better. "Fuck you both."

Jim playfully dropped his voice to a deeper octave. "Oh, the promises you make, Bones."

Leonard did shove him then. To Spock, he eyed sourly and said, "I always knew you were a bastard at heart."

"We will give you two days," Spock simply replied, "to make your decision."

Leonard nodded. Sometime during their discussion (or confrontation, though frankly Leonard had no idea how to categorize what had just happened) his panic had morphed into a familiar nervousness. Butterflies in the stomach, some would call it.

All the more reason, Leonard thought, to give nothing away. He only hoped the one person he could go to for advice—and, shit, why did it have to be his ex of all people?—would tell him something that made sense. Unfortunately, knowing Jocelyn as he did, Leonard doubted her "sense" would sound sensible to him.

The tension between the men had abated to the point where Leonard didn't feel uncomfortable announcing they needed to eat and, by Spock's sudden chagrined tilt of his head, all three of them had been stupid enough to forgo food for several hours. As he skirted around the steel table to retrieve his jacket, Leonard tried to ignore the way Jim looked at Spock and Spock returned that stare. When they touched—a simple, tentative caress of fingers—Leonard shivered.

How could they not know they were perfect for each other?

Then Jim sought him out, pinned Leonard with an unreadable look from across the room. "Wait for us, Bones," he said.

Leonard didn't figure he had any other choice. At least, not yet.

* * *

"Joss," Leonard said when she opened her door, "I need help."

Jocelyn frowned at him. "This is the second time you've shown up at my house claiming that, Leonard. Should I be worried?"

"I mean it." He pushed his way past her, caught sight of Clay's startled face from the couch, and spun away to stalk into her kitchen. "Fuck," he said, looking in the refrigerator and at the bare kitchen counters. "Don't you have anything to drink?"

"Please, make yourself at home," she said with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "And, no, there's no alcohol."

"Fuck," Leonard cursed again and barked, "Clay!"

Clay came trotting towards the kitchen. _What a well-trained puppy. _McCoy mentally kicked himself for being so snide. "How about a beer?" he asked, plucking a school book from Clay's hands and setting it aside.

Jocelyn intervened with a firm no. "You will _not _get my boyfriend drunk again!"

"Jocelyn," Clay said quietly from behind her, "I think he needs a beer."

Clay understood, somehow. "I really, really like you," Leonard declared.

The young man's ears turned red.

"No," Jocelyn repeated, only to amend, "Well, maybe. Let's hear the news first, and if it's a legitimate reason to get drunk off your ass, I'll play designated driver."

Leonard did not think Jocelyn going to a bar with them would end well.

She poked his chest. "C'mon, Len. Spill!"

"It'll embarrass Clay."

Clay was offended. "I think I can handle anything you have to say."

Leonard couldn't help but rise to the challenge. "Great," he said, baring his teeth in what he doubted passed for a smile. "My two work buddies? They want to fuck me. At the same time, on a regular basis."

Clay made a noise, part whimper and probably part hysteria. Then he lunged suddenly for a key rack on the wall. "Beer," he muttered, "nooo, shit, l-liquor. Lots 'n lots of liquor." Jocelyn and Leonard stared at the lanky man as he backpedaled for the door, babbling in his haste, "Stay there! D-Don't come, I can, the liquor store, just me!"

"I want whiskey!" Leonard called as Clay hurried out of the front door and slammed it shut in his wake. Leonard turned to look at Jocelyn. "Will he come back?"

"Probably not until he finishes your bottle of Jack Daniels in the parking lot. I guess I'll be paying a taxi fare. Or bail money. Damn it, Leonard, why'd you have to scare him like that!"

"Hey, he asked," said Leonard, his tone bordering on petulant.

"So it's true!" she crowed, eyes suddenly alight.

"Um."

Jocelyn dragged him by his shirt collar to her couch. "Mind the rug," she warned him. "It's a replacement for the one you ruined."

He made certain to drag his shoes across it. After being pushed into a sitting position, Leonard folded his arms and gave his ex-girlfriend his most terrifying glare. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Bullshit."

"I want to get drunk."

"Sorry, Clay's doing that part. Now tell me," Jocelyn began, "about these hot work buddies of yours. Exactly how are they going to fuck you?"

Leonard sputtered and blushed and pulled at his hair when she wouldn't relent in smirking at him. His glower was half-hearted at best. "You're the evilest woman I ever met, Joss."

"And you love me all the more for it. Okay, I won't bother you for the details. You haven't actually slept with them yet anyway so it would only be guesswork."

"Who says I haven't slept with one of them?"

"Oh, Len. Even a priest could tell you haven't been laid in _ages_."

Talking to Jocelyn is much, much worse than he expected. "Please," he almost begged, "can we not talk about sex?"

"Only if you tell me about this Jim guy."

He sat up, accused, "So you did meet with Jim!"

Her look was a warning about his tone. "Yes. We had sushi together."

Normally Leonard would have made a face of disgust at the mention of sushi but he was too focused on what she had admitted. Did it mean...? "You told him," he said, deflating somewhat. "God, Jocelyn. Why'd you have to tell him?"

She stayed silent for a moment. Leonard put his head in his hands since it was better than yelling. He didn't want to be mad at her.

"Len..." Fingers brushed against his hair. "What did Jim say?"

"That you told him everything," he said in an empty tone.

"But I didn't. Look at me, Len. I really didn't tell Jim anything about the accident."

His brows drew together. "Then how did he find out?"

She looked torn between amusement and admonishment. "Who says he did? That man... That _Kirk_, he's something else." She pursed her lips. "What was he trying to achieve by lying to you, I wonder?"

Realization struck and caused Leonard to sag into the cushions of the couch. "He... holy shit. The getaway." It made sense. Perfect, ridiculous sense. "I'll kill the bastard," Leonard snarled, imagining in detail how he would wring Jim's neck.

"Before or after you sleep with him?" Jocelyn asked coyly.

Leonard rubbed at his face. "This is fucked up. Why am I—" He dropped his hands to look at her. "Why am I even considering saying yes?"

But Jocelyn didn't supply his answer. Instead she ordered, "Since you're pissed at Jim, tell me about Spock."

"I don't even want to know how you know his name," he sighed. "Spock is... well, he's a little strange."

"Good strange or creepy strange?"

"The good kind. He's not very social—"

She rolled her eyes. "Pot, meet Kettle."

Leonard ignored her. "—but when you get to know him, to understand the way he thinks, he's really sort of fascinating. He can tell you anything so long as he treats it like a fact. ...And I'm not really sure but I think he's loaded. Like millionaire-loaded, only the guy never brags and he never discusses his finances, _ever_." Leonard added, even though he felt silly saying it, "He's kind, too."

"Oh, how cute," Jocelyn said, reaching over to pinch his cheek, "you look so flummoxed!"

"Stop that!" He slapped at her hand.

"You didn't tell me the important stuff though. Is he good-looking?"

"Like that matters to you," Leonard retorted, thinking of Clay. "He's not hard on the eyes."

"But Spock doesn't know that, like your Jim doesn't know he can be valued as more than a pretty face."

Leonard opened and closed his mouth, stunned. "...How did you figure that out?"

"I know everything. It's my gift."

"Jocelyn," Leonard said heavily, "I always knew I'd rue the day you decided on a psychology major."

"Oh but, darling, if I don't help you sort out your psyche, who will? Besides," she said, fluffing her short hair, "a degree and a license mean I can charge you an exorbitant fee." She looked too gleeful as she said that.

"Thank God I'm too poor to pay you."

Jocelyn grinned at him. "That's not what you told me last time."

"Shit."

They stared at each other until they dissolved into laughter. Leonard sobered first. Jocelyn patted his knee and dragged a pillow from the other side of the couch and put it in his lap. Then she laid her head on the pillow. He didn't know why but having her curled against him soothed the more jagged edges of his anxiety. Idly he combed his fingers through her hair.

"There comes a time, Leonard, when we get tired of being... where we've been. Of being complacent, even when that complacency is what makes us feel safe most of the time. You have been locked in your misery for a long time and the misery was safe despite that it was also destructive. You're tired of it. You may not realize this, but you are seeking a way to end it."

"How can you know that?" he asked quietly.

"If you weren't ready, you wouldn't have come after me that day." Her voice held a touch of sadness.

Leonard brushed her cheek with his knuckles. She captured his hand and held it between her own. "Len," Jocelyn told him, "I can't tell you what you need to do. You know that."

"Yeah, I know."

"But I can tell you as a friend that I don't want you to be unhappy anymore. I can tell you that I met Jim and I think he's a good guy at heart. I think he loves you. I can tell you I don't know Spock but I _know _you love him. One of the worst things in the world is to have to choose between two people you care about. If you don't have to choose, that makes you very lucky. Not many people are that kind of lucky, Leonard."

"So it doesn't matter if I decide to be with them in order to save myself?"

"That's the most important reason to do it," she replied. "It's time to be a little selfish—and if Jim and Spock knew it was to help you, would they say no?"

After that, Jocelyn was quiet. There was nothing else she needed to say. Leonard enjoyed her company for a little while longer, kissed her cheek, and promised to go retrieve her drunken fiancée. When he left the condo, he didn't take his burden with him. It had disappeared.


	21. Part Twenty One

**Is Part 19 cursed? First LJ destroys it into unreadable bits the day of the post; then when I think everything is back to normal it goes ****_missing_**** from here? I sort of get the feeling I wrote something that wasn't meant to be read... Thank you, dear reader, who informed me of the missing chapter. And I apologize to those of you who were looking for it! Please PM me if this happens again. I will try to check in periodically with the story (and not go a whole weekend in ignorance). Also, please know you can find the story at my writing journal, if not here. Link is on my profile. **

**That said, I have been working on this stubborn chapter for a few days now. Make what you will of it.**

* * *

If someone tried to describe what James Kirk was feeling at that moment, he or she might guess: he was nervous; he was in shock; or maybe—just maybe—he was happy.

But Jim, jaded by years of meaningless relationships, had no illusions about his true reaction. An opportunity had presented itself. They (two of the most honest men he had ever known) said they wanted him and he didn't ask why. Couldn't have asked that because it meant he would have had to disagree and ruin everything. So there came a chance, perhaps the chance of a lifetime, and Jim did what he had learned to do long ago. He took it and pretended it wasn't, in all likelihood, something he wasn't meant to have.

Jim was certain Bones understood on some level what he was trying to insinuate himself into. Why else had McCoy had second doubts? Why else had Jim had to push him, manipulate him so subtly to delay that inevitable no?

On the other hand, Spock was much too trusting of Jim, which Jim had known all along. There had been no coercion or sweet-talking necessary. For Jim, it was so easy to be callous and to forget that once upon a time he had promised himself never to take advantage of Spock.

'Never' was a relative term, Kirk thought as he snuck a glance at the man beside him on the couch. They were close enough to touch elbows. When Spock turned his head, Jim forced his gaze back to the television.

He wanted to bounce his knee or pick at a loose thread of the throw pillow folded under his arm. He did neither of these things because they were tells, and Jim never gave away his tells in a game he was dead-set on winning.

Could he win in the end anyway? If McCoy did not come back, any victory would be hollow. Jim understood very well that all three of them had to be part of the deal or there was no deal at all.

"You are worried." The soft sound of Spock's voice settled around Jim.

Jim resisted the urge to shudder. He made a noncommittal noise, focused on but not comprehending a tv commercial about soap.

After a momentary pause, Spock said, "I would ask that you speak your mind if you are compelled by doubt."

"Who's doubting whom?" he countered, his voice not so much soft as it was quietly controlled, and shot a look at his employer, friend, and now decidedly something _else_.

"There is no doubt in my mind, Jim."

_Why? _He caught the word a second before it could be voiced, saying instead, "And McCoy?"

"I cannot claim to know Leonard's mind as well as my own. I do know, however, what troubles him is not the arrangement itself but some concern which lies rooted in his past."

"Isn't the past what warps us all?" said Jim, a touch bitterly, as he flipped the channel until he found a sports game. He could feel Spock's scrutinizing gaze upon him and resisted the urge to strike out, just enough that Spock would think twice before considering him a case study instead of a person.

"Jim."

"Wanna bet on who'll win the game?"

"Will you tell me about your past?"

Jim was no fool. He knew how ugly this conversation could get. "Nothing to tell. I don't have family and I'm widely traveled." He flashed a smile at Spock that didn't reach his eyes. "You already know that."

Spock just continued to look at him.

"Twenty bucks says the—"

"I have a father I have not spoken to in ten years."

Jim's mouth closed of its own accord.

Spock folded his hands in his lap, clearly uncomfortable he was sitting instead of standing while he spoke of a personal matter. "There are times when I believe it would be... simpler to say he is not alive, when I must speak of him, yet that would be false and unfair. He is a good man, a wise man." Spock's breaths were barely discernible over the noise of the television. "I am his greatest disappointment."

Jim's fingers tightened unexpectedly around the remote, his knuckles turning bloodless. "A disappointment," he echoed flatly, unaware that the pressed line of Spock's mouth was akin to a flinch. "How can you...?" Jim's tone switched from disbelief to disgust at a mere word. "He _called_ you a _disappointment_? He sounds like an asshole to me, Spock."

"Sarek never used that word," Spock said quickly and it sounded vague enough to Kirk to mean that Spock's father might not have used the word but it wasn't an idea Spock pulled out of thin air, either.

Jim felt terribly angry at this man he had never met, and once his anger was sparked, it usually snowballed into a fight of some kind. There was no object he could alleviate his anger upon, not in Spock's house anyway, except his own person. And while Jim had an abundance of issues, self-harm was not one of them. (Unless one counted putting a fist through a wall, since that action almost never hurt the wall.) He resorted to tossing the remote on the coffee table and repeatedly rubbing his palms against his jeans in hopes the movement would assuage some of his tension. It only succeeded in making him more jumpy.

"Shit," he said after a minute, "shit, I can't sit here, Spock." Jim abandoned the couch and headed for the door that led to the patio and backyard.

A tree wasn't a wall but like the wall it didn't hit back. Jim figured he could say he was practicing boxing if anyone asked why he was punching a tree.

He had just aimed his first knock-em-out punch at a particularly menacing-looking piece of bark when Spock intervened. That is, by "intervened", Spock blocked Jim's flying fist with ease and without warning knocked Kirk flat on his ass in the middle of the yard.

Torn between surprise and outrage, Jim gaped. "Spock—?"

Spock approached and held out his hand to help Jim, who was rising to his feet, but the moment he had Jim's hand in his own, he swept Jim's left leg out from under him. As his elbows hit the dirt, Jim's confusion vanished from one heartbeat to the next and was replaced by hot anger. He came up from the ground roaring and tackled Spock in his midsection. Spock, the bastard, twisted Jim's arm until his roar transformed into a frustrated scream then batted Jim away like an annoyance.

"Your technique is poor."

"What the fuck do you know?" he snarled, turning on the man again and circling him. "It's saved my life more than once."

"A circumstance of pure luck, I must assume."

Spock skirted out of range of a right hook, but Jim anticipated that move and followed, catching Spock's wrist and using the leverage to pivot himself into a full body-slam into Spock's ribs. Spock didn't let him go as another fighter might have done, did not stumble, simply folded gracefully and took them both down to the ground. A quick scuffle ensued in which Jim tried an elbow to the stomach (that missed, unfortunately) and tangled up Spock's legs with his own. But Jim left his torso vulnerable and Spock took advantage of that and flipped them over until Jim was under him and successfully pinned. Kicking didn't help, nor bucking or threats.

"Do you concede?" Spock asked, watching him steadily.

Conceding meant losing, and Jim didn't like to lose. "No," he bit out, having instantly formed a new plan, in the moment before he darted upwards and caught Spock's mouth with his own. Jim gripped the back of Spock's neck and one of his forearms to prevent the man from jerking away.

Spock worked an arm between them, albeit somewhat belatedly, and parted them with a shove. He said with a near-gasp, "That is not a method of attack, Jim."

Jim looked at the well of blood on Spock's bottom lip and countered slyly, "It's always been one of my better ones."

Spock stared down at him with inscrutable, black eyes. "You will kiss me again," he half-demanded.

Jim realized then if he had had any intention of stopping before, it wasn't an option now. He made a wordless sound and leaned upward to meet Spock halfway.

* * *

Some time later, they both became aware of a methodical thump-thump-thumping not too far away.

"Mmmrgh," Jim complained when Spock paused in biting at his collarbone to inspect their surroundings. "What is that? ...Never mind, forget it, Spock." He whined manly and grappled with Spock's shoulders but the man only stiffened instead of melting back into him. So Jim tried another diversion tactic by worming a hand under Spock's ridiculously form-fitting turtle-necked shirt.

"Jim," Spock hissed, capturing his wrist to still his movements. "We are not alone."

His first response was "So what? Let's give them a show."

Their company, it turned out, as Jim lifted his head from the ground to look in the direction in which Spock was blushing, was a fascinated nine year-old and a red rubber ball. Said nine year-old was methodically bouncing the ball in place while he watched them through the chain link fence.

Jim had never rearranged his clothes faster, except that time he got slobbering drunk in some biker bar and, once he had sobered, found himself being groped by a woman who looked exactly like his dead grandmother.

He and Spock made into the house in record time, their walk of shame notwithstanding. Spock's cheeks were still lightly red.

"Er, maybe he won't tell his parents?" Jim offered hopefully. He contemplated his pants and a missing belt buckle. Now probably wasn't the time to mention he had accidentally left evidence behind.

"I may be banned from the next meeting of the homeowner's association."

Spock made that sound like a _bad _thing. Jim winced. "Sorry? Should I go talk to them?"

Spock removed something from Jim's hair and held it up for him to see. It was a blade of grass.

"...I guess that's a no." Jim combed his fingers through his hair, dismayed as bits of yard floated to the carpet. "We can pretend it never happened."

"I would suggest we expunge the detail concerning our explicit activity in view of a minor. The rest," Spock said, "I would prefer to remember."

On the heels of that fresh memory, a wave of desire hit Jim. He looked at the fabric that covered Spock's neck. "Can we—get you out of that shirt?"

"Is the shirt troublesome?"

_Oh, you have no idea. _"It's my mortal enemy," he said as solemnly as he could manage.

Spock's lips twitched. He turned without saying a word and headed towards his bedroom. Jim recalled briefly who was missing (the man who ought to be the reason he backed off), blanketed that thought, and followed Spock.

He did give consideration to another thought as he caught up to Spock. Because Spock was in the processing of shedding his shirt, Jim's brain required a few extra seconds to remember why the thought was important.

"I want a rematch."

Spock folded his shirt and placed it across a chair. "The point of the fight was to help you focus on an object which could diffuse your anger with the least injury."

"I could have won." He didn't like the way Spock labeled himself as an object.

"Jim," Spock said, turning to face him, "you do not need to prove yourself. What you are worth to me cannot be measured by a skill. …Or a price," he added softly.

This conversation had gotten ugly after all, Jim realized. It had turned into something he couldn't face. "I—" He began, stopped. Because he was still in the doorway it was so easy to step backward over the threshold and plant himself decisively in the hall. "Spock," he said, "thank you. That means..." Too much. "Just, thanks. But we should wait."

"Jim..."

"Bones," he clarified, like it wasn't something he had considered and dismissed beforehand. "It might be better if we don't—" He gestured at the bed. "—until we know his answer."

Jim had to flee then, because Spock looked at him as if he knew, _he knew_, that Jim was making an excuse to simply get away from the undeniable, gentle emotion in Spock's eyes.

_This is disappointment_, thought Jim. _This is how you disappoint someone who loves you._

* * *

Leonard quit his second job on a Tuesday, the day after he talked with Jocelyn. He went to see to his shift supervisor early in the morning. The guy simply looked at him, overrode his slightly nervous speech of "_sorry 'bout the bad news but I don't need this job anymore_" with a "Who are you again?" It wasn't a rude question, since they had only met face-to-face once in the past. Leonard himself didn't even really know the man except by title.

"Leonard McCoy."

The supervisor consulted his payroll. "Yeah, okay. I guess you do work here. Which, buddy, if you weren't quitting, I'd have to fire you anyway. You've got four absences in a row."

Leonard winced. "There were... some complications." Like his arrest. Best not to mention that. "I'm not gonna leave you short-handed," he said earnestly. "This is a two-week notice."

"Hey, I don't care. We've a new group of trainees coming in tomorrow. Somebody'll be eager to take your place, buddy, if you aren't. There're always people praying to their gods that one of you quits or chops off a toe."

Leonard wished the man wouldn't speak so blithely about workplace injuries, which were too common already. "Okay. I guess... goodbye? And thanks?"

"Your last paycheck will be in the mail but if you don't get it, don't call me," the supervisor said and turned back to his computer screen.

Leonard doubted he had earned enough in the last week to warrant a final paycheck but he recognized a dismissal when he heard one. He slipped out of the office, crossed the shopfloor, and left the building. Somehow, even though he was acting prematurely (the insurance money hadn't shown up yet, and Leonard doubted it would before the next month), he felt lighter in his heart as he caught a bus back into the city. He was worn at the edges from spending eighty percent of his day at one job or another; and he knew how detrimental to his health that could be, considering he had trouble sleeping the other twenty percent of the time.

Things were going to be better now. He had to believe that. His writing ability was not so craptastic anymore, he might not be as close to homelessness as he anticipated, and there were two people who—

Oh, but how Leonard was jumping ahead of himself!

Spock and Jim were present in his life all right, and were waiting for him, but the three of them hadn't actually _done _anything outside of discussion. And really... whose fault was it they hadn't gotten past the "let's talk about" stage?

Leonard might have not done any favors for himself. He was painfully aware of that now.

He remembered holding Spock's hand, then, and the kissing and felt his face heat. So, okay, there had been some marginally exciting activity going on. Yet the question remained: was Leonard ready to accept more from both Spock and Jim? Were they ready to accept it from him?

He thought he knew the answer from their point-of-view. Jim would, no doubt, find every opportunity to enjoy himself. Spock would—well, Spock wouldn't object, and Leonard only knew that because it had been rather apparent the man found touching Leonard to be quite fascinating.

So he had to ask himself if he was the one who was ready. More than the physical nature of a relationship, the inherently emotional nature of it was what mattered to Leonard. Emotion drove it, made it strong, kept it thriving. Did he have the guts to be emotionally receptive to the kind of relationship they wanted?

He hadn't been before.

Leonard had not—_did not_—want them to know how broken he was after the loss of his family. It was with shame that he thought of his depression and his anger and his refusal to help himself.

Leonard slumped into the bus seat and closed his eyes. So this is the feeling he had carried around for so long without acknowledging it: shame. What an unpleasant thing.

Better to face it now and move on, he decided.

That meant, of course, he had to admit his shame to them—and _that _meant telling them everything.

His fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the seat. The bus halted at a city block and Leonard's eyes skipped to the window, crowd-watching while others came and went. He could stay anonymous, as anonymous as he was on this bus right now, but in the end it would do him no good. He would stand on the sidelines and watch Jim and Spock make a million wonderful things possible and feel regret that he had no part in it. He knew he would.

Resolutely he stayed seated as the bus rumbled to the stop nearest his apartment complex then past it. When it took a turn into a neighborhood Leonard was rapidly becoming familiar with, he sat up and clamped his hands between his knees. He didn't need to see Spock's house to know it was nearby.

No one would be home. The time of day was closing in on noon and the shop needed tending particularly during the lunch hours.

Still, he almost got off the bus. Almost, until Leonard's common sense made him hesitate and sit back down.

Was it better to go to them now or wait until after closing?

"You look lost," a kindly woman said from across the aisle, a partly knitted scarf and knitting needles in her lap.

"Just indecisive," he replied, embarrassed.

"Hm," she murmured knowingly. "Then ride a while longer and maybe you'll make up your mind. Or until your stomach makes up your mind for you."

That... was not bad advice. At least, it wasn't as long as the bus driver took no offense to his loitering.

Leonard settled into his habitual slump and let a window's view of the world race past him. He thought of nothing for the most part and only vaguely worried about different ways to say _sure, let's do this weird love triangle dating thing and hope nobody thinks we're starting a cult. And, hey, my ex thinks it's a great idea! _Forty minutes later, his stomach had indeed made a decision for him. Nodding to the woman still absently working on her scarf (was she a regular on this route, he wondered, since no one said a word to her edgewise?), he left the bus and strode north, feeling the protest of his leg muscles from sitting for too long.

Spock's coffeehouse was busy as usual, and Leonard didn't bother to fight the crowd at the counter. He stole an unused stool from a table with a single occupant, placed it along the wall and perched there to observe the scene. Jim had his hands full but he wasn't alone. Spock deftly handed out orders as Jim completed them and he had people behaving themselves without doing much more than simply looking at them until they sheepishly sorted themselves out into a line. It was hilarious and heart-warming at the same time.

Leonard crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, content. He didn't try to help because he knew he would only be a kink in an otherwise perfectly synchronized dance between Spock and Jim. The truth of it didn't sting as it might have once upon time; Leonard simply watched them work and let himself be amazed and, oddly enough, proud.

He wanted this. He wanted them.

Jim caught Spock's eyes as he finished another cup of coffee and he smiled. Spock answered in the prolonged touch of their hands. Then he returned to duty.

The fact was Leonard McCoy not only wanted what he saw, but he was going to have it. And he realized in that moment he was okay with whatever it might cost him.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts he didn't notice the man working his way to the front of the counter. It wasn't until Jim's movements stuttered before stopping altogether that Leonard knew something was wrong. The man paid a cursory attention to Spock, fixated on Jim for a short minute. Then he turned around, looked directly at Leonard, and smiled.

_Oh hell_, Leonard thought, sliding off his stool.

What had possessed Christopher Pike to come here? According to the man's grin, nothing good.

When two other people stepped into the shop, both in police uniform (whereas Pike was not), and flanked the Captain, Leonard's stomach sank.

Nothing good had just turned into something very, very bad. Of that he was certain.

"Captain," Leonard greeted as Pike veered toward him, remembering to keep his voice cordial.

Christopher Pike motioned to an empty booth. "Join me?"

Leonard eyed the goons standing at the counter, hands in their pockets but watching him closely, and decided refusing the invitation wasn't an option. He slid opposite of Pike into the booth and braced his elbows on his thighs. He would let Pike tell him the reason for this visit.

Pike relaxed into his seat and studied the bustling shop. "Place seems like a decent setup. You like it?"

Was that a trick question? "The job pays the rent."

Pike considered his casual reply. Then he asked, "Why do you think I'm here, McCoy?"

"For a donut and a cup of joe? Hate to break this to you, sir, but we aren't a Dunkin Donuts."

"I'll let you have that one joke at my expense," Pike said, "but I wouldn't suggest trying my patience further."

At a loud thud, Leonard glanced over the back of the booth and caught sight of Jim. Kirk was paying more attention to their direction than to the dishware he had just knocked to the floor. The look on his face said he wasn't where he wanted to be or doing what he wanted to be doing. Leonard purposefully avoided eye contact, guessing that within seconds Jim would be over here causing trouble.

Leonard figured in such a public setting he could handle Pike on his own. He silently made a vow: get Pike out of the coffee shop as quickly and painlessly as possible. So, playing along for now was in order.

"All right, tell me what I can do for you. I'm guessing this isn't a social call, given we aren't friends."

The older man chuckled almost soundlessly. "I read an interesting story," he told Leonard, as if they were part of a mutual book club and this unexciting statement mattered.

Pike unearthed something from his jacket. With a noise of surprise, Leonard unthinkingly reached for it. A sick feeling settled in his stomach when Pike did not automatically relinquish it, instead laying it flat on the table and continuing to smile. To anyone but Leonard the smile would seem congenial, almost friendly. It wasn't.

McCoy's hands flexed under the table. His surprise gave way to anger. "That...that's mine. My notebook."

"I know."

"You broke into my apartment?" The accusation sounded more like a question of incredulity. "Why?"

Pike flipped through a few pages. "How this came into my possession is unimportant. Do you know... I was surprised that the plot is actually good—though your handwriting—" His mouth wavered with humor as he read a line. "—leaves something to be desired."

The world was rotating slowly. There were no words to express how surreal the moment felt.

Pike _hmm_ed. "Sci-fi doesn't interest me much. I like the real, the gritty, the... tragic."

Crime novels, Leonard would bet. Pike probably had a bookshelf of them.

"Yet you managed to keep my interest. Tell me, are these Vulcans really as peaceful as they seem?"

They can be any way I make them, he almost retorted. "Listen, just give it back and I'll forget I ever saw you with it."

Pike leaned forward on his elbows abruptly, crowding into McCoy's personal space with an ease born of an experienced interrogator. "The Vulcan is obvious. He's Spock. Precise, not given to extraneous emotion unless his defenses are compromised. An annoyance to a man such as yourself."

Leonard was dizzy. Why was he dizzy? "So what?" he said, mouth acutely dry. "It's just a story."

"And Kirk," Pike continued without missing a beat, "is the starship's captain. Who else could he be? You see what I see in him, don't you, McCoy?"

"Jim's far from captain material," Leonard countered, hating the fact that he and Pike shared anything.

Pike stopped smiling. "At the moment? You're right. He's broken."

The words were a sucker-punch that left Leonard winded.

"It's a sad truth about Jim Kirk," Pike said, interpreting his expression correctly. "_That _is why I'm here, McCoy. This little tale you wrote—" He slid the notebook toward Leonard. "—means you can understand my motive. I want Kirk on my team—and you're going to make that happen."

"No," he said, then disbelieving, "Are you nuts?"

Pike drew back, face hardened. "I've been a cop for a long time. I've seen more than my share of kids messed up too young work their way through the system from misdemeanor to murder. The same story sticks with them as they grow up. Usually it gets _worse_. Jim's a classic case—been on the wrong side of the law since his teens. I can change that for him, give him focus."

Leonard understood more than Pike thought he did. "You mean you can use him."

"I'll get something out of it, yes."

"I'm not listening to this!" Leonard snapped, inching out of the booth. "I don't agree with a damn thing you just said."

Pike was quick; he was on his feet with a painful grip on Leonard's arm in a matter of seconds. "You didn't ask me why I picked you." Without waiting for a reply, Pike swept the notebook off the table and shoved it into McCoy's chest. "In this story, you're the doctor."

He opened his mouth to protest but that protest did not come. "I am?" But he couldn't be. He didn't... "—care about people like that."

Pike released him with a snort. "You cared enough to end up in handcuffs next to your partner. Everybody's got their part, McCoy. You wrote it that way. I just interpreted it for you. So find the problem with Kirk and _fix it_," he ordered. "I'll be in touch."

"I won't help you!"

Pike put his hands in his pockets, turned away before looking back at Leonard a last time. "You mentioned another character in passing—the man who had the ship before the wonder-boy captain. Respected, revered for his service and his wisdom. He might have been me, you know, except for one thing..." Pike started smiling again. "I'm not the good guy and I won't ever be."

Leonard's palms were sweating. "If you're not a good guy, then why would I trust you with Jim's life?"

"Because I am far from the worst out there. I suspect," Pike murmured for Leonard's ears only, "you'll learn that soon enough."

A chill washed down Leonard's spine. But Pike said nothing else, not that he needed to, and strode for the door. His lackeys wordlessly followed him. Three shadows stretched across the wide window as the men moved down the street.

Fingers dug into Leonard's bicep, steadying him when he might have swayed. His brain reeled; his thoughts were disjointed enough by a quiet fear that he couldn't make sense of what had just happened, or of the threat encroaching on Leonard's normally peaceful existence.

...And not just his existence.

He turned to Jim, who had been saying his name. "Shit, I think we're screwed."

Jim's fingers dug a little harder into Leonard's skin. "What did he want?"

Leonard pried at Jim's hand. "Look, the one thing I don't think I can do right now is talk about Christopher-fucking-Pike. Where does Spock keep the strong stuff?"

A voice said at his back, "You are aware there is no alcohol on the premises."

"Well then, excuse me. I'll be going to find some."

Jim tried to follow him to the door. Leonard planted a hand in Kirk's chest alongside a firm _no_. "Don't you dare leave Spock to handle these customers by himself!"

Jim relented, though he did not look happy about Leonard making his escape. Leonard paused at the doorway and ran a hand across the cover of his writing notebook. (It did nothing to lessen the feeling of violation.)

He turned back and said, "Yes."

Spock's eyebrow twitched with incomprehension. Jim was on the verge of several strong emotions and had no patience for puzzles. That much Leonard could figure out with a single glance. He clarified for their benefit, "The answer's yes" and left.


	22. Part Twenty Two

Leonard was in the middle of a late afternoon brooding session when someone knocked on his apartment door. He stuffed his notebook under a couch cushion, wiped his hands on his pants, and went to see who it was. Only partly surprised, he said hello to James Kirk and invited him in.

"Spock somewhere nearby?"

Jim shook his head. "I came alone."

"Well," Leonard began then stopped. He glanced around, realized this had to be the first time Jim had seen his apartment and made a slight motion with his hand. "Welcome, I guess. It's not much."

Jim made a beeline for the window and writing desk and inspected the world on the other side of the windowpane as if it afforded him an unusual view. "Not bad."

"Only if you discount the condemned building across the street and the crackheads who hang out on the corner."

Leonard saw the faint lift of Kirk's mouth through the reflection in the glass.

Jim turned around. "Bones..."

"We need to talk. I know." Leonard dropped onto the couch and tamped down on his instinct to scowl. He heaved a sigh instead.

Jim gingerly settled on the wooden chair at the desk and looked at him.

Afraid Jim was waiting on him to speak, Leonard said pointedly, "You're the one who came to see me, Jim. What's on your mind?"

"You said yes."

Leonard's heart skipped a beat for no good reason.

"Why?" Jim wanted to know, leaning forward in his earnestness.

"If I said it's complicated..."

"I would say I can handle complicated. Tell me everything."

Leonard made an annoyed sound. "You're a nuisance, kid." Then he huffed. He fidgeted. He decided Jim was prepared to engage in the longest staring contest in history. "All right! Which do you want: the short version or the long version?"

"I want whatever you are willing to share."

Leonard ignored the double meaning of that. "I said yes because I figured I had more to lose if the answer was no."

Jim said nothing.

Leonard had to look away. "I like you, Jim. I think you know that." Out of the corner of his eye he saw he had startled Jim. "I like Spock, too. It's not a sudden thing. I've kinda felt that way since the second or third time I paid a visit to the shop."

"I didn't know that," Jim said quietly. "You kept turning me down."

"Yeah," he agreed. "That was for Spock's sake. Jim... could you really not see how he feels about you?"

Now it was Jim's turn to forgo meeting his eyes. "It's complicated."

"Welcome to the club," Leonard quipped with a trace of his dry humor. "Fine, I won't ask. We'll just agree that you were an idiot—and still are."

"Thanks a lot, Bones. I can tell you know how to make a guy swoon."

"I save that charm for the ladies."

Jim rubbed a hand over his mouth. It did not quite erase his smile.

Able to relax at last, Leonard stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "I gave this disclaimer to Spock. I suppose you deserve to hear it too." Surprisingly the words were not hard to say, or bitter. "I'm not the best at relationships. Case in point is the fact I have actively avoided them for more than a year. That stuff Jocelyn told you?" Jim's eyes widened. "That pretty much put me off people for a long time."

Boy, this was fun. Guilt obviously wasn't the easiest emotion for Jim to cover up. Leonard waited, smug without showing it, for the confession.

"Um," Jim began, hesitated. "Bones, I...that is..."

He lifted an eyebrow. "You're not going to tell me again how sorry you are for me, are you?"

"I _am _sorry," Jim muttered, and by that he meant he was very, very sorry he had lied and now Leonard assumed Jim knew what he was talking about.

"So you can understand why I am paranoid—"

Jim looked like he had swallowed a bug.

"—pissed off most days," Leonard wanted to laugh, badly, "and don't play well with others." Could he possibly tack on more bullshit? And Jim, poor poor Jim, had no clue how far he was about to be strung along. Leonard suppressed a wicked grin. "I've been very _traumatized_, or at least that's what the clinical psychologists wrote in their reports."

Jim was biting down so hard on his lip, it was a wonder he hadn't broken through the skin. "Bones."

Leonard shrugged and said nonchalantly, "They said my psychotic break wasn't as bad it could have been. Like, you know, I didn't stab a bunch of people in the subway." He paused. "All though it was a near thing, and sometimes... well, urges never really go away, do they?" He gave Jim his best _I'm unstable and you're in the room with an axe murderer _grin.

Jim's eyes darted to the innocuous pencil on the floor then back at Leonard. His leg started to bounce nervously.

"What's the matter, Jim?" Leonard inquired in a smooth voice. "Surely you're not going to judge me based on an affliction I can't help?"

"Of course not!" Kirk was quick to assure him. "I wouldn't, er, you're not... though of course they—uh, the psychologists?—had to clear you to be around people. _Right?_"

Leonard held out for about three seconds before he burst out laughing. He began laughing so hard he was close to crying and had to hide his face in his hands.

"Bones, no—Bones!" Jim was calling urgently over his laughter, and suddenly a hand was squeezing Leonard's shoulder. "Deep breaths! We're all okay! Nobody's upset!"

Leonard pulled his hands away from his face in time to see Jim hiding the pencil under the couch. A fresh wave of laughter bubbled out of him and he dragged Jim forward so he could drop his forehead to Jim's shoulder and muffle his laughs against the man's shirt. Maybe they sounded like sobs. By the time it wasn't so painful for Leonard to breath, Jim was patting his back carefully and trying to rock them both for comfort, which was awkward since Jim was kneeling on the floor and Leonard was still mostly seated on the couch. He pulled away to wipe his face and ask, "What are you doing?"

Wide-eyed, Jim studied his reddened face. "Are the... urges gone?"

"Not all of them," Leonard said, amused. "In fact..." He reached out and smacked the back of Jim's head.

"Ow, hey!" Jim sat back and looked very much like a child unjustly punished.

"You _are _an idiot, Jim. First thing, just so you quit having visions of me stabbing you in the throat with the nearest pointy object, I lied. I'm not insane—not much anyway. I didn't have a break from reality, but you'd know that if you actually knew what you claim to know."

Jim closed his mouth on a protest and stopped rubbing the back of his head. "What?"

"You lied to me," Leonard repeated patiently. "Jocelyn told you nothing." He felt a touch of satisfaction when guilt flooded back into Jim's face. "You don't have to tell me why you did it, Jim, because I'm pretty sure I figured that part out for myself."

"Did you?" came the subdued reply.

"It was a diversion so you could make that bus."

A few seconds passed before Jim nodded slowly. Leonard's attention had sharpened with suspicion in the meantime. "What else?"

Jim blinked. "What do you mean?"

"There was a second motive. What was it?"

Jim gave him that slight smirk which meant nothing good. "Don't you trust me, Bones?"

"To be honest, sometimes I don't think I should trust you. Half the time you're playing at something I can't figure out." Jim didn't look angry, only tired. Feeling bad for him, Leonard caught Kirk's chin and brushed his thumb along a light five o'clock shadow of stubble. He was unsurprised when Jim leaned into the touch. "Maybe the real problem is that you can't trust me, kid."

"I trust you, Bones."

"Not with everything."

Jim tugged Leonard's fingers away from his face and wrapped them in his own.

"Not with the real you," Leonard said, swallowing hard. Jim was doing his damnedest to be a distraction, having suddenly switched his attention to using his mouth to explore the back of Leonard's hand.

"We're touching," Jim murmured. "This is as real as it gets."

"Stop it," he said, but there was no heat behind his words.

Jim slid his free hand to Leonard's elbow and gently reeled him from the couch to the hardwood floor. They were at the same eye-level now. "I'll tell you a secret if you let me kiss you."

"Why is this always your solution?" But Leonard was already angling his head for the kiss. He didn't see a reason not to kiss Jim. No reason at all.

They parted several minutes later when they had to breathe or die.

"What's the secret?" Leonard said raggedly between gulps of air. Jim had nipped at his bottom lip and it throbbed in a pleasant way.

A grin spread across Jim's face. "Spock has an erogenous zone behind his right ear."

For a moment, Leonard floundered for a response. "That's not—did _you_—damn it, Jim! You said you'd tell me a secret!"

"I did. It's totally a secret because Spock would be mortified if he knew. Also, I don't recall saying I'd tell you one of mine."

"You sneaky little bastard."

"Aw, you love me!"

"Jim, shut up. And get your hand off my thigh."

"So we're not going to make out?"

Leonard flung the hand off his thigh himself. "Hell no. I'd rather not have to explain to your biggest fan why I gave you a hickey before he did."

"You mean like this one?" Jim pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose of a small purplish bruise on his collarbone. Leonard stared at the spot for a long minute. "Spock's not going to mind if you give it a twin," Kirk insisted.

Leonard might have seriously considered the invitation, except Jim's smug expression said he enjoyed the thought of Spock and McCoy in a competition of sexual prowess. Especially when he was the recipient of said contest. So Leonard did the next best thing: he slipped a hand under the couch, retrieved the pencil and looked very, very calm. "I'm going to stab you now, Jim. Please don't move."

What ensued thereafter (Jim could scream like a girl, apparently, if given the appropriate incentive) was fun for McCoy and somewhat humiliating for Kirk. In the end, Jim did get a bruise but not the kind he had anticipated, nor in a place he wanted to be bruised. He limped along after Leonard, the perfect picture of contriteness, as the two men left the apartment building for the nearest pizzeria. Jim did, however, make Leonard splurge for extra cheese and breadsticks as revenge.

* * *

"Hello!" someone called cheerfully.

Spock paused in counting the number of pennies in the cash register and looked up. Despite that he stiffened, he kept any hint of discomfort from his reply. "Can I help you?"

"I hope I'm not interrupting," the young woman said as she approached the counter and eyed the stacks of pennies. (Spock preferred to count them in multiples of ten.)

"Can I help you?" he repeated.

"Do you remember me by chance?"

Of course Spock did; his eidetic memory would not allow for forgetfulness, nor a first impression such as hers. He inclined his head. "I recall you had an interest in one of my employees."

"Funny you should put it that way—'an interest' rather than 'a desire to communicate with'. Did I really come off as that type of girl?"

Spock could not discern the source of her amusement. "If I misjudged you, I apologize," he said with little inflection. "We close in five minutes. Do you wish to order?"

When she turned away, he expected she would leave. Instead, the woman dragged a stool to the corner of his counter and sat down. "You must be Spock," she said and held out her hand after setting her purse aside. "My name is Jocelyn. I'm a friend of Leonard's."

Spock really hadn't decided to shake her hand; it just happened. "I see."

Jocelyn smiled at him. "Actually, I don't think you do. When I used the word friend, I meant simply that—a friend. Sure Len and I dated, oh, about—" Maybe Spock's eye twitch changed her mind about her rambling. "Never mind the details. We dated; we broke up. Personally, I think that's for the best. And," she added, lifting her hand proudly, "I am engaged to this wonderful man. Leonard has met him and he approves, by the way."

She had presented him with much information in the span of a few seconds. Spock processed it quickly and found he was less inclined to think negatively of her. In that respect, she was both perceptive and persuasive. Yet there was one question he had to ask. Spock phrased it as a statement: "You do not intend to pursue him."

"Didn't I mention the engagement part?" With a good-natured huff, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, all right. I guess I can concede that being in one relationship does not preclude an individual from seeking other. Speaking of..." She propped her chin with her hand and widened her eyes playfully. "How goes it?"

"I do not understand your question."

"How are you managing with the dating two employees at one time thing? Is it working out?"

Had Spock been anyone else, he might have been appalled or embarrassed or angry by her prying. Instead, Spock felt fascinated. He asked with honesty, because he was curious, "Do you feel you have a right to know that answer?"

"Oh, I like you. You don't think I was too bold?"

"I suppose," Spock replied for her, "given your association with Leonard you may assume any aspect of his life which affects his well-being is your concern."

"And you're _smart_, too! I had to spell it out for the other guy."

His fascination grew. "Do you refer to Jim?"

"Who else? Nosy, boyish charm, sly like a fox—that's Kirk. Oh wait, I forgot stubborn. Do you know—well," she paused, "you must know by now. About his foolish notion?"

"I fear I do not. Please explain."

But she started biting her lip. "Maybe I've said too much."

"You have not," Spock assured her.

"I feel like I am giving away someone else's secret."

"I will tell no one."

"You're really just as stubborn as the rest of them, aren't you? Okay," she agreed. "Pinky swear on it."

Spock studied her raised little finger.

"Hook your finger with mine and make a promise," Jocelyn explained.

"I have not sworn an oath in this manner before," he confessed while complying with her instructions.

"Then it is my honor to teach you the childhood adage of pinky swearing! Now promise to tell not a soul."

He promised, barring the soul part.

"Fabulous! Okay, first: Jim's got it bad for our resident McCoy."

"Affirmative," Spock agreed.

"And Jim's sweet on you too. In fact, I'm fairly certain he's the most confused individual I've ever met. But that could be because he's in his head too much." She tapped a polished fingernail against the counter and made a thoughtful sound. "So Jim, being this 'hero' type—and why is it heroes are the most foolish when it comes to self-sacrifice?—"

Spock assumed that was a rhetorical question. Even if it wasn't, he had no answer to give.

"—decided since you and Len are both wonderful people and happen to like each other, you should be together and he was just shit out of luck."

She spoke in a manner that Spock recognized. "I see your relation to Leonard."

"Oh, hush," she said but looked pleased at his observation. "Now, being a 'doer' type in addition to having this god-awful hero complex, Jim came up with a plan to remove himself from the running. Isn't that silly?"

"Indubitably."

"Pushing people away by attacking them, whether physically or verbally, is often the most expedient method. I have to wonder, though, why he chose to hurt Leonard and not you." Jocelyn looked at him as if he might know. When he stayed quiet, she guessed, "What would he have had to say to upset you, Spock?"

Spock thought about it with the appropriate clinical detachment. "He might have said anything which could be misconstrued as rejection." In truth, Jim had done that days ago and only now was Spock able to remember it without a lingering pain.

"Ah, so it was easier to provoke Leonard's temper, and thereby yours if I guess correctly, than to say something potentially psychologically damaging to a person he valued. Maybe Jim's not as dumb as he seems."

"He is far from unintelligent."

"And maybe," she mused further, "he wasn't looking to destroy the possibility of a future without any hope of redemption. He could have done a lot worse, but it sounded like he was buying time instead."

Spock argued, "One must consider the fact Jim intended to leave after the altercation. That action, given its very nature, would suggest he wished to remove himself from any future here."

She shrugged slightly. "That's just a man's tendency towards flight."

"If you refer to a 'fight or flight' response, Jim prefers to fight." Fondness was perhaps not the most logical feeling to associate with this statement. Nevertheless, he harbored a certain fondness for Jim's idiosyncrasies.

_Tsk_ing, Leonard's friend leaned forward, eyes bright. "But you see, Kirk only fights when he isn't likely to expose a scar. Otherwise he runs like the rest of us."

Spock didn't know whether to be offended that she thought Jim common or to applaud the insight.

Jocelyn wanted to know, "Has he shared anything with you about the cause of those scars?"

Spock hesitated, decided he could trust her; after all, he only had a theory, not a truth. "Jim has not. However I have reason to believe he was abandoned at a young age."

"Are we talking literal abandonment?"

"Estrangement may be a better word."

"That's almost worse," Jocelyn murmured. "To be emotionally abandoned in all the ways that matter to a child and yet not be physically separated from the caretaker... Hm. So, to Jim, it's safer to accept gratification from a stranger instead of love from a friend. Oh dear. He must be very angry. Spock, may I advise on a course of action?"

"If you wish."

"Let Leonard take the lead on this. I don't doubt that you care for Jim and want to help but, knowing as much as I do about Leonard's past, I think he can broach the subject with Jim as a kindred spirit."

Spock could detect no guile in her face or voice. "Why would Leonard be a kindred spirit?"

"Len knows how it feels to have nothing, or at least he thinks he does. Even if he had a happy childhood—"

"Did he?" Spock did not understand why confirmation mattered, only that it did.

"Yes," she said gentle understanding before she continued. "Leonard has experienced great loss in his life and it's not a loss that can ever be replaced for him by another person. Similarly, who could take the place of Jim's family?"

"We will," Spock said.

"No one could," she corrected softly. "You will be his new family, the one he will choose, but you will not be his mother or his father or his sibling."

"I have no desire to be a parental figure in Jim's life."

"Trust me, that's a good thing. It's a whole other can of worms if you did."

Realizing the time, Spock reluctantly took a moment to spot-check the empty cafe and then flipped the Closed sign to face outward in the window and locked the door. When he returned, Jocelyn was looking through her purse. "While I find your advice astute," he said, "I suspect you are not yet in a legal position to provide counsel."

"Nope," she said brightly and held up a pen and a small notepad with clear triumph. "Which means I won't charge you for this half-hour."

"How fortunate."

Laughing at his reply, the woman wrote something on the paper. "This is my number."

"I have your phone number memorized."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." She tore off the sheet and put it by the register. "Feel free to call me for any of the following reasons—"

Spock liked the fact she made lists. It was a very sensible approach.

"One, you can't figure out a way to make the two Dodo heads talk about their feelings. I have some techniques I'm dying to try out."

He clasped his hands behind his back and tried not to project his amusement.

"Two," Jocelyn forged ahead, "you would like to go on an outing with me some time and, no, I'm not hitting on you. I think we could be friends. Do you like museums?"

Spock felt his eyebrows climb to a new height. "I prefer the science museum on Third Street."

"Wonderful! I like science much better than art, myself."

"I look forward to such a venture."

She beamed at him. "Leonard is right, you are pretty amazing."

Spock never blushed. It was best to pretend he did not blush now.

Jocelyn took a deep breath and straightened on her stool. "And the final and most likely reason you will call me... you need somebody to kick Leonard in the shin. Did I say the man was a Dodo earlier? He has less sense than that, which is why my specialty is kicking his shin."

The serious manner in which she explained this unnerved Spock. Did Leonard require a regular bully? "I... will keep your generous offer in mind."

"Thank you." Jocelyn stood up and offered her hand again. Rather than shaking his hand, however, she clung to it and squeezed his fingers. "Really, thank you. There were so many different ways I imagined our first meeting taking place and this is better than all of them."

"In what way?"

"I didn't have to threaten you."

"…Most interesting."

"I doubt it would have been. But just so you know... don't hurt Leonard. I like you a lot, Spock, because I can see you are a very calm, intelligent and rational person. It would be a shame to destroy you."

Spock blinked at her choice of wording. "Do you not mean you would kill me?"

"Oh no," she said pleasantly, "I would destroy you. Utterly."

He honestly could not think of a reply to that.

Jocelyn let go of his hand and shouldered her purse. "You can tell Len I stopped by."

"That will not be necessary."

She winked at him as he followed her to the door and released the lock. "See? You are intelligent! Bye now."

"Goodbye."

Jocelyn left, and Spock put all of the pennies back in the register without finishing the count.

* * *

"I'm not rolling you back to the apartment."

The pizza slice in Kirk's mouth muffled his response. Bones wouldn't appreciate the pure sarcasm anyway. Jim settled for licking his fingers instead of talking. Disgusted, his eating partner shoved a napkin into his hands and told him to act less like a boy raised by wolves and more like a human being with manners.

Of which Jim had none. Not that Leonard knew that—yet.

He studiously wiped tomato sauce from his knuckles. Strange, how much it looked like blood. "Bones, can I ask you a question?"

"Oh god," the man across from him groaned, "not another question. What do you want this time?"

Jim hadn't asked that many questions. Truly, he hadn't. Not important questions like this one, that is. "Which side of the bed do you sleep on?"

Bones just looked at him.

Jim hadn't really had much experience sleeping on a bed larger than a twin-size in his life. A bed was a bed was a bed, as some would say. Be grateful you had a bed to sleep on and not a blanket on a ground. What did sides matter? Jim thought they might, to Bones. That's why he asked.

He was wondering how much he would have to push (or lie) to get an answer when Leonard inquired, "Is this a serious question?"

Nodding, Jim spotted an errant mushroom and plopped it in his mouth.

"I like any position I can get out of quickly. I have to pee at least three times a night."

Jim considered at length where he might prefer to sleep. "I would like being next to the wall."

McCoy frowned. "Spock's bed isn't against a wall, Jim."

"Oh, yeah! You're right."

They paused awkwardly then, looking at each other in mild astonishment. But neither man questioned how the other knew the location of Spock's bedroom furniture.

"So..." Jim said into the silence, reaching for the last breadstick, "are you going to tell me what Pike said?"

Leonard leapt forward, rattling the table between them, and shook his finger close to Jim's nose on the heels of a triumphant shout. "I knew it!" Dutifully, Jim grabbed Leonard's hand and began wiping it clean. The man jerked his hand back and gave Jim a funny look. Jim pretended ignorance.

"Pike?" he prompted.

Bones snorted. "I'm surprised you managed to go this long without asking."

"Food comes first," Jim said.

When he looked at the remaining piece of pizza, Leonard made an exasperated noise and nudged the tray in his direction. "Eat the damn thing already and quit with the sad eyes."

"You don't want it?" Jim asked but he was already loading the food onto his plate.

"My limit is half a pizza in one sitting, kid. Somehow I don't think you've ever paid attention to that feeling you get when your stomach is full."

"What feeling?" he shot back.

Leonard rolled his eyes heavenward.

"I want to know about Pike," Jim insisted between mouthfuls.

"He's a douchebag."

"Don't ever say that to his face."

"Oh, believe me, I'm not that stupid. One visit to the city jail was more than enough, thanks."

"He won't put you in jail," Jim said absently, contemplating two stuck-together pepperonis before he ate them both, "but you might not like the beating you get from his squad." He was full, actually, considering the protest of his stomach, but Jim knew better than to waste food. He shoved the rest of the crust into his mouth and drank a lot of soda to help him swallow it. It wasn't until Jim decided there was nothing else to eat short of the utensils and the napkin holder that he realized Bones hadn't said anything in response. "Is there something on my face?" He dragged his sleeve over his mouth and chin.

"Jim, Pike doesn't own you."

"What? 'Course he doesn't. Nobody _owns _me." How true, right down to his government paperwork.

"If you're afraid—"

What the fuck? Jim straightened. "I'm not afraid of Christopher Pike."

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it!"

"No, you didn't let me finish. I was going to say if you're afraid of what he's planning, don't be. The man's a bullshitter."

Jim... had never heard that one before. Pike, like Jim, never really wasted time saying things he didn't mean unless he had motive to.

Leonard shook his head slightly as if Jim's doubts had been voiced. "Pike knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on when it comes to civilians. Short of you enlisting, he can't _force _you to do anything for him."

"Bones," Jim said, both hating and loving Leonard's naivety, "it's all corrupt—the system, the cops, the judges. If Pike wanted to, he could plant an evidence locker's worth of drugs on me and I'd swimming up shit creek for the rest of my life." _Or dead._

Jim mulled over what Leonard wasn't saying. So Pike was still looking for a way to recruit him?

Who was he kidding? Of course Pike was.

"Don't you think he would have done that already?" McCoy was saying quietly, aware of the fact they were in public and listening ears could be anywhere, anytime. "Punish you, I mean, for turning him down."

Jim played with a napkin. "You think he offered me a deal?"

"I can put two and two together, Jim."

"Yeah but the question is, when you put them together, do you get four or five?"

"I get a perfect fucking ten."

Jim grinned and brushed bits of napkin onto the empty pizza tray. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"Besides thinking with your south brain instead of your north brain?"

"Somebody needs a hug," Jim sing-songed and winked at the waitress across the room. She'd be hurrying over any minute to do his bidding. Sadly, for her, he only wanted to request the bill. Being in a relationship did limit his options. Jim was somewhat amazed that didn't bother him.

"Jim, sometimes I want to strangle you."

"Is this because of your psychotic break?"

McCoy sputtered. "I told you that was a joke!"

Jim was a master at the art of nonchalance. "If you say so."

"Damn it, Jim!"

It was fair play and all. Leonard had thought it funny, so so funny, that Jim had taken the confession to heart. He had been prepared to cry on Spock's shoulder because Bones was a certified maniac and they would have to cope with that the rest of their lives for the sake of love.

"I guess one of us should tell Spock about your homicidal tendencies," he teased.

"There won't be a need to explain," Bones snapped, "when he sees your dead body."

"Can you not mess up the face, at least? I want an open casket."

The waitress, who had chosen that moment to appear, looked like she suddenly had doubts about them both.

"I think we're ready," Jim told her amiably.

"Um, of course," she agreed and hurried away with more speed than was necessary.

Jim rolled the torn paper cover from a straw between his hands as he thought about what he needed to do next. "I want you to stay away from Pike, Bones."

"I'm not the problem, Jim. He is."

"Oh, he won't be for long," Jim said flippantly and stood up as the waitress came back with their bill.

"Why doesn't that make me feel any better?" Leonard murmured close to Jim's ear.

Jim said nothing, because plans weren't meant for telling, only doing, and smiled at the nervous girl as he took the receipt. Then he strode for the register at the front of the restaurant, mindful of Leonard's discomfort with his silence and his own complaining stomach.

_Shouldn't have had that last slice, _he thought.

Oh well. There was always time for regret later. That's how his life seemed to work itself out, in spades of regret. As Jim snuck a glance at Leonard's face, he wondered how much Leonard was going to regret in his life because of him. But he didn't let himself think too long about the answer.


	23. Part Twenty Three

"Something you need?" Leonard asked of the man almost literally breathing down his neck.

Spock stared at the back of Leonard's head for a moment longer before inquiring, quite belatedly, "Would you like help?"

Who did Spock think he was foolin'? Leonard ducked his head and smiled as he retrieved a bag of plastic lids. "Sure," he said.

Spock took the proffered bag but let it hang slack from his fingers at his side.

"You could take that to the front," Leonard suggested. Spock looked at the bag but made no move to do anything with it. Taking pity on him, Leonard reclaimed the bag and set it on the floor next to the other supplies he was digging out of the cabinet. "See, here's the thing," he said, letting his amusement color his voice. "Most people would think it was creepy if their boss were to hang over their shoulder for a good half of an hour. They might even call it sexual harassment."

That startled a response from Spock. "I would not—"

He interrupted, "So those pornographic pictures coming out of your brain _don't _have anything to do with sex and me? My, oh my," and snickered.

"You cannot... it is not possible that you know what I am thinking."

Leonard didn't have to turn around to know Spock's ears were red with embarrassment. "Am I wrong?"

The short silence was answer enough.

Finally, irrationally, Spock said, "I apologize."

Leonard closed the cabinet doors and faced Spock. "You know, it isn't a big deal. Jim's already tried to get into my pants multiple times since yesterday."

Spock leaned forward slightly with an intent look, which was his peculiar equivalent to narrowing his eyes.

"Not that I let him!" Leonard was quick to clarify.

"Yet I do not recall Mr. Kirk returning to the house last night."

"Waaait," Leonard said, holding up a stalling hand though Spock had not tried to say anything else, "is Jim _living _with you?"

Spock's mouth twitched. "He left some belongings in the guest room."

"Uh-huh."

Spock looked curious. "Does this mean he is living with me?"

"Well, how would I know that?" Leonard countered.

"You implied such."

"_You _sounded like you expected him to be there!"

"I do not understand why you are upset."

"I'm not the one who's upset!" But this roundabout mad conversation with Spock was on verge of driving him crazy, as was that pitying tilt to Spock's head. "Just... go pester Jim for a while. I have a headache."

"That is a grave misfortune, indeed." Except Spock did not take the hint, as obvious as it was, and let Leonard be. Instead he guided Leonard to a chair and pulled out a stack of tea packets from a drawer. "Do you have a preference?"

"Yeah. It's called ibuprofen."

"I often find I have no taste for black teas," Spock was saying as he plugged in an electronic kettle. "I will prepare the green tea, if you have no objection."

Would Spock listen to his objection anyway? Doubtful. Leonard settled for massaging his temples and grouching. Spock silently brought him a packet of sugar while the tea boiled and made no remark about his liking for sweet tea.

At the exact moment the tea was cool enough to sip, Jim stuck his head into the kitchen area and said, "Bones, you've got a visitor."

Leonard could think of only one person who would look for him and he debated hiding in the bathroom until she left. Of course that wouldn't deter Jocelyn if she had it in her mind to talk to him. He muttered something along the lines of _fuck my life _and put down his mug. Out of the corner of his eye as he pushed through the doorway past Jim, he saw Jim give Spock a strange look. Leonard wisely didn't ask.

It wasn't Jocelyn looking for him. It was her boyfriend Clay.

"Is this what she has reduced you to, vicarious spy?" he said once they had sat down at an empty table along the back wall of the coffee shop.

Clay took off his glasses and blinked down at them. "Yes?"

"Clay, my friend, you are a braver man than I am. I hope you make her do the housekeeping in return for your complete obedience."

"It doesn't quite work like," Clay admitted with a sigh and, after staring at his glasses in such a way that indicated he didn't remember why he took them off, he replaced the spectacles on his nose. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to report."

Leonard crossed his arms and thought about it. "You could say everything seems fine."

"Do women ever believe that?"

"No."

Leonard reached out and laid a commiserative hand on Clay's shoulder. Clay must have appreciated the gesture because he gave Leonard a tentative but genuine smile. Patting Clay's shoulder once, he withdrew his hand and dropped it to the table. "She makes you happy, doesn't she?"

The young man nodded.

"That's good," he said, meaning it. "I'm glad you two have found each other. At least I didn't ruin her life."

"Jocelyn's stronger than that," Clay said quietly. "I like that about her."

"I guess you came into her life at the right time." Leonard wasn't much for fate, or a believer in one's so-called "destiny", but he figured maybe Jocelyn and Clay could be an exception. They must be, given how happy they were with each other. He decided not to embarrass Clay further with his musings and asked about Clay's classes at university. It turned out to be a rather enthusiastic subject for Treadway, and Leonard relaxed as he listened to the man talk about his chosen track.

They were grinning and chuckling over Clay's imitation of Jocelyn begging to go along on a class field trip to the city morgue for cadaver inspection ("How can she be okay in a room of dead people but scream when she sees spider the size of tack?" Leonard then had to tell Clay the story of a young Jocelyn versus a neighbor's pet tarantula) when, unexpectedly, Jim showed up seemingly out of nowhere with a cup of coffee, which he unceremoniously plunked in front of Clay. Clay looked startled so Leonard guessed he hadn't ordered the coffee.

Leonard softened his grin as he looked at Kirk and absent-mindedly rubbed the chill bumps along his own arm. "Are you hot or something?"

Jim had rolled up his shirt sleeves past his biceps. Muscles flexed and bulged when Jim folded his arms and gave them both a very thin smile. "Who's your friend, Bones?" In the same breath, he introduced himself to Clay. "I'm Jim."

"Clay," Jocelyn's fiancée said just before he took a sip of the free coffee.

At Clay's strange expression, Leonard reached for the cup. The brew wasn't just bitter, it was terrible. Leonard forced himself to swallow his mouthful and demanded of Jim, "What the hell is this?"

"Is it not good?" Somehow, Jim's shocked face wasn't entirely convincing. Then Jim bared his teeth at Clay more like a dog would than a friendly human. "Let me make you another cup."

"Oh, um, no thanks. I—" Leonard's companion looked anywhere but at Jim. "—can I have a bottle of water instead? I'll pay for it."

Leonard doubted water would negate the memory of such an awful taste. With a sharp nod, Jim left to retrieve a bottle of Dasani from the shop's small refrigerator. He seemed in a hurry to get away—or to get back.

Leonard shook his head apologetically. "Sorry about that. Jim rarely makes bad coffee."

Clay's eyes darted to Kirk's turned back. "Is he one of your...?"

"Admirers?" Leonard supplied after a pause.

The poor man blushed so easily. "Jocelyn said to keep an eye out for the Hot One." Leonard hear the use of capital letters. Clay blushed more fiercely. "I'm—I don't think I, uh, qualify to as a judge of male attractiveness."

"Jim's not good-looking to you?"

"I wish I had his physique. Does that count?"

"So start going to a gym."

Clay looked sad. "I do."

"Well damn."

Clay prodded at one of his biceps and expressed the hopelessness of his situation with a deep sigh.

Leonard poked at the small muscle too. "Hey, it's not so bad."

"Didn't you feel the bone?"

Leonard wasn't going to mention that. Poor fellow had chicken arms as well as chicken legs. But he tried for optimistic (or the closest he could get to optimism) and said, "I know what you're getting at. Not that I have a membership to a gym, but when I was in high school I tried to bulk up." Leonard slanted Clay a wry grin. "Thought looking like a jock would be a good thing to improve my love life, or get me one actually, only nothing worked. I didn't start coming out of the awkward phase until right before senior prom."

Clay smiled shyly. "Just in the nick of time, then."

"That's what Joss says" was his dry reply. He might have launched into another story (Clay seemed to like hearing about his soon-to-be wife as a teenager) but Jim was back with the water bottle for Clay, looking slightly harassed. Spock must have sidelined Kirk from his self-appointed task to fill a customer's order.

Clay subtly inspected the seal of the cap before twisting it off. Leonard didn't blame him.

"So," Jim said with an annoying brightness, "mind if I join you?"

"Yes" Leonard said pointedly over Clay's slightly distressed "No?"

Jim looked at Leonard for a long moment. Then he found a vacant chair and while he was in the process of bringing it to their table, Leonard made a _why are you letting him wander around? _gesture at Spock. Spock looked from Leonard to Jim and back again then returned to consulting some list in his hand.

"Excuse me," Leonard said to Clay from between clenched teeth and stood up. He caught a hold of Jim's arm in passing and marched him to the counter.

"Bones, let go!" Jim protested.

"Spock," Leonard said, ignoring Kirk, to focus on the man who was supposed to have some semblance of a brain when Jim didn't.

"Greetings, Leonard," Spock said, blinking at him like they had just coincidentally encountered one another.

"What the fuck," he said in an undertone, "is going on?"

Jim had managed to pry his arm out of Leonard's grasp. "He calls himself Clay," Jim reported to Spock.

"Did he give a surname?"

"No."

They both looked to McCoy.

"Treadway," Leonard said, not certain why he was suddenly uncomfortable.

"Treadway," Jim repeated softly, now watching the man across the room rather than Leonard.

"...Okay," Leonard began slowly, "somebody needs to explain to me what is so fascinating about Clay. Do you think he's a spy of Pike's? Because I can say with certainty you are dead wrong."

If anything, Jim looked as though he liked Clay the not-spy even less.

Questioningly, Leonard said "Spock?" and hoped for an answer.

Spock simply gave him a measured look, which was un-interpretable per usual.

Having no option but to chalk up their stubborn silence to an unfortunate episode of _crazy_, he sighed with finality. "I give up. We'll just take ourselves elsewhere for now. I'll be back when you're feeling... nominally stable."

He spun on his heel to fetch Clay and found himself immobilized from behind.

Jim's fingers dug into Leonard's shoulders. The hair at the nape of Leonard's neck stirred when Jim leaned in to say, "Should we let you go without a fight, Bones?"

"Fighting?" He tried to turn his head to catch sight of Jim. "Who wants to fight, kid? I don't."

Jim's hands slid from his shoulders to curl around his arms. Leonard hadn't paid enough attention, distracted as he was by the feel of Jim's hands on him, to notice Spock edging into his field of vision.

"Then what is it that you want?" Spock asked in lieu of Jim.

"I—well, I want—" His thoughts were oddly scattered. Stupid Jim and his stupid thumbs and their stupid caressing. Leonard felt flushed under the collar and was not at all pleased about it. He saw Clay, who had focused on a spot that was no doubt purposefully not in their direction.

"I want Jim to back up a step," and nope, Leonard's voice was not strained in the least as he spoke, "and you, Spock, to go do something which doesn't involve staring at me like that. Then, damn it, I'm gonna tell Clay—"

Jim's grip tightened.

"—to go home."

"Really?"

Finally, something clicked Leonard's brain. He turned on Jim, incredulous. "Is this _jealousy_?"

Jim squared his shoulders like he and Leonard were about to start trading punches. "Are you kidding me? Who would be jealous of a toothpick?"

Leonard took offense on Clay's behalf. "Be careful, Jim," he warned, eyebrows lowering. "Be very, _very _careful of what you say about my friend."

"_Friend_, Bones?" He made a rude noise. "Are you always so affectionate with your friends?"

"Discounting the tactile nature of the greeting," Spock said, rather unhelpfully, "you have initiated physical contact with the individual in question twice in fifteen minutes."

Leonard could not believe his ears. "You were counting?" When Spock looked at Jim in puzzlement and Jim chuckled, Leonard stabbed a finger in the hateful Kirk's direction. "You need to stop looking so smug! Don't like me touching people, do you? Fine, let's see how you enjoy hands-free communication for the next decade! And you too, Spock, because you're stupid enough to take his side!"

Jim didn't look half so smug anymore. "That's not fair!"

"Tough shit," Leonard shot back and turned away from the two fools. "That's what you get for not having two brain cells to rub together."

Waves of embarrassment emanated from Clay as Leonard approached the table. Leonard snapped out, not thinking, "Get up!" and the young man complied too hastily, tipping over his water bottle in the process. His pants fared poorly as a result.

Immediately regretting that he let his temper get the best of him, Leonard apologized sincerely and snatched up the nearest napkins he could find. Clay took a handful of them and started blotting at the water stains. However, when Leonard closed in to do the same, Jim was there trying to take the napkins out of his hand.

"Let me do that, Bones."

"Fuck no! Look at what you've done to the poor man already! Clay can manage _without _your help!"

Clay was saying something about not needing help from anyone and he would just go home _right away_, yes, that would be best. They ignored him. Jim stubbornly pulled on the napkins. Leonard pulled the other way.

"Let go, Jim!"

"I said I'll do it!"

"And I said you won't! Clay doesn't want you near his crotch!"

"He's not getting your face in his crotch either!"

The napkins tore. Leonard flung his half at Jim's head. Jim was making a compact missile with his portion. Spock deftly maneuvered Clay to the side of the firefight and gave the man a towel. He could be heard saying, "You will find the facilities to your left." Clay might have run to the bathroom, wet pants and all.

Minutes later, Leonard was contemplating pouring sugar into his hand for projectile purposes, or just chucking the whole damn sugar container, and Jim had staged a fort with menus across the back of a booth and was no doubt forming a counterattack of his own. One customer picked at the shower of paper upon his person in dismay, two college girls were giggling from a corner table, and an old man was telling people he'd take bets on the winner. Spock had returned to the front counter and began to set out the pastries sold by the shop. He announced at large, "These are free."

The customer covered in napkin bits looked less disgruntled with a danish in each hand.

"Entertainment's free too," somebody snickered.

Clay did not come out of the men's bathroom. An hour later, Leonard would find a scrap of khaki cloth caught in the corner of the bathroom window and feel bad that the poor man had thought it necessary to squeeze through such a tiny opening in order to save himself from Kirk, Spock, and McCoy.

Jim only smirked and pointed out, "I bet the rest of his day sucked."

* * *

The lights were out to enhance the illusion that he was sleeping. Truly, Clay might have gotten away with the pretense if Jocelyn hadn't slipped into bed and begun to gently walk her fingers up and down his side.

"Clay?" she breathed in the dark of their bedroom. "Are you asleep?"

When he didn't answer, she pressed against his back and walked her fingers down his arm. He twitched. It was involuntary.

"Oh good, you are awake!"

He released the breath he had been holding and it came out as a depressing sigh.

Jocelyn leaned over to look at his face. "Clay?"

"I'm... awake," he clarified stupidly.

"I know. I doubt anyone could sleep this early. It's only five in the afternoon."

Great. His stupidity always made itself known. It was a balm, though, that Jocelyn never sounded disappointed about his lack of brilliant observation. Considering she often pointed out how smart he was, he sometimes liked to think she actually believed it to be true.

"So," his wonderful girlfriend wanted to know (which he had been bracing for), "what was your impression of them? Did they seem... well-adjusted?"

Clay was bad with words; he had been as long as he could remember. He stuttered until the age of eleven, despite that his parents tried so many ways to fix him, and he had gotten used to the idea that silence was safer than trying to say even the most mundane of sentences. Despite all, the long hours of speech therapy and longer hours of practicing in front of a mirror, words still came out wrong. His tongue didn't twist them up anymore, yet that didn't seem to matter.

He said, his thoughts skipping around, "I'm afraid" in response to her question because that was the connection between all of the thoughts, though not the whole of what he meant.

"Afraid for them?"

"Of them."

"Hm."

That was her thoughtful sound, when her brain was gearing up for an investigation. Clay had never met anyone who liked to know about people the way she did.

"Can you tell me about it?"

It was a gentle suggestion. Clay took a moment to consider how he wanted to explain. "I don't understand them."

A few seconds of silence settled into the darkness, and Clay feared he might have said something to upset her.

Jocelyn's hand rested on his arm. "Do you mean because they're men who like each other?"

_If only it were that, _he thought wistfully. "No."

Clay had had a cloistered upbringing, born in a small town of no more than three thousand in population and where people kept their secrets behind closed doors if they lived in a way that deviated from the sermons the preacher gave on Sunday. The world beyond his hometown was a lot broader, a lot stranger too; but that's the reason he had chosen an out-of-state college in a city one hundred times bigger than where he had grown up. Still, though he didn't really care about men loving men and women loving women because it had no effect on how he lived his life, there was a certain awkwardness that came over Clay when the subject was broached.

Some days he wished he was a braver person, a guy who could flirt because he believed in himself or the casual conversationalist who showed no fear of words.

Like Jocelyn. She was very special.

"Then what do you mean?" she pressed, not angry just curious.

"You should have told me..." he started to say, hesitated. "I mean, Len—Leonard, he's... a little crazy?"

"Oh," she said, repeated.

The sudden shaking against his back wasn't what it seemed. Clay knew that. "Why are you laughing?"

"It's just—" Jocelyn muffled her giggles against his shoulder. "Oh, oh lord. Clay, what did he _do _to you this time?"

Clay felt like sighing again. He reached out and searched blindly for his glasses on the nightstand instead and put them on.

Jocelyn rolled to her side of the bed and turned on a lamp. "Really, Clay, I think you have to tell me now!"

That meant he didn't have a choice. So he explained about the harmless conversation he and Leonard were having and then about the appearance of a daunting Jim Kirk who had an unexplained grudge against Clay (geez, it wasn't like they had met before!); he mentioned the mysterious shop owner (Jocelyn said "That's Spock" but Clay didn't know that for certain, really) and tried to describe what it was felt watching ordinary-looking people devolve into napkin-slingers. Did Kirk and McCoy realize they had knocked the water bottle over again, in their tug-of-war, and Clay had endured a second soaking?

He doubted it.

"He yelled at them. In public," Clay finished.

Jocelyn had her face hidden in a pillow. The pillow wasn't doing a very good job of absorbing her laughter. "That's how he is!" she said breathlessly, surfacing from her amusement for air. "Leonard can be quietly content if he's in the mood but I swear he's never happier than when he's yelling at somebody or something."

"Is that normal?"

"It's normal for him, I suppose." Jocelyn brushed away the strands of hair sticking to her face and grinned. "But, hey, even if it's not normal at least it's good for his blood pressure. No internalized stress." Then she frowned. "Or is it bad? Wait, I'm confused."

"I would think it's bad." It took more effort to yell and that meant more strain on the body. Strain on the body, from a doctor's perspective, was never good.

Jocelyn un-tucked her legs from under her body and stretched them out on the bed. "I'm sorry it was terrible for you."

"It was... really terrible," he agreed after a moment. "But I think my pants suffered the most." He should have known better than to wear his favorite pair of khakis on a Jocelyn-designated mission.

"Then remind me to apologize your pants."

Clay sighed, not meaning to but unable to stop himself, and laid on his back so he could stare at the ceiling. The mattress shifted under him. Jocelyn asked, "Can I join you?"

"I'm not doing anything," he mumbled.

"Can I 'not do anything' with you?"

He stretched out his arm so she could slid in next to him and curl up the way she liked to.

Jocelyn's voice was unexpectedly tired when she next spoke. "My day was long too."

"Tell me," he offered because this was something he could do for her, listening.

When his fiancée splayed her hand against his breastbone he knew she was smiling. Then Jocelyn began to talk; after that they napped for a while and woke up hungry. Then after dinner they satisfied a different kind of hunger and slept again.

Clay's last drifting thought was that he had had an unpleasant day of dealing with crazy people, people Jocelyn would probably want to keep in their family despite everything; but that did not matter so long as he had her. With Jocelyn, even bad days became bearable.

* * *

**There have been some interesting theories floating around about Pike - is he good or bad? Would he look after Jim's best interests, and how does that fit in with his own interests? At this point, I will say I honestly do not know!**


	24. Part Twenty Four

**I bring tidings! I signed up for the holiday challenge space_wrapped as I have done for the past two years (resulting in fics _Cookies and Cakes, Oh My!_ and _Of House Guests and Winter Twins_). The prompt I chose this time gives me, shall we say, plenty of room to play? On my journal there is a post with the prompt, a tantalizing fic summary, and other details (184090 .html). I look forward to providing you all with this treat come December!**

**Concerning this story: we will see its conclusion in the next three to four parts. The boys have finally been placed on the same path, and though we may not go with them to the end of it, at least we know they made it to a point where they are together. I hope everyone has enjoyed the story thus far and will not feel too badly when it is over.**

* * *

The street was quiet, veiled by a hint of an approaching twilight which naturally shifted thoughts towards home and the haven therein. The occasional passerby had a hurried stride, not lingering along the way to his intended destination as if with the stroke of the hour there was no longer time for leisurely shopping or dining.

On the near-empty sidewalk, Jim was focused not on the world at large but on a singular man, who returned his attention with equal measure.

"You will stay at my house tonight."

Jim, broom in hand, eyed his employer. "Is that an order?"

Spock placed his hands behind his back. "You were with Leonard the previous evening."

"Not the whole time," Jim admitted. Then it occurred to Jim that Spock wasn't accusing him, per se, but pointing out some inherent clause of equality in their unspoken pact. "So if I spend time with Bones, I should also spend time with you?"

Spock simply looked at him.

A strange feeling tightened Jim's chest. He resumed sweeping the path in front of the shop, paying close attention to a leaf caught in a crack in the cement. "That's fair."

The sudden silence between them was uncomfortable. At length Spock said, "I cannot force you, Jim."

"It's not a problem," Jim replied, attacking the stubborn leaf from a different angle. It refused to be dislodged. "We'll order Chinese."

Spock made a barely audible noise that served as a sigh. "It is understandable if your attachment to me does not mirror your attachment to Leonard. You are not required to love me."

Jim closed his eyes, grateful he had his back to Spock. _But I— _He couldn't finish that thought, saying instead "I make my own choices, Spock."

"And what choice have you made?"

Jim shoved down his first reaction—a shudder—and did not falter in his self-appointed task of sweeping the sidewalk. "That I'll be at your house tonight."

"...I see." The soft scrape of shoe against pavement meant Spock had shifted, probably turned away. "I will extend the invitation to Leonard."

Jim heard the shop door open and when it had closed again, he blew out a breath. He knew he should have said something else and that what he had said was not what Spock wanted to hear. The right words had been on the tip of his tongue for a brief instance before he lost them. And Jim, for the life of him, could not figure out what had frightened them away.

* * *

When Spock said in passing "It would be best if you joined Jim and myself this evening" Leonard lifted an eyebrow and intercepted Spock's retreat to his office. "Why's that?"

Spock kept his eyes fixed on the closed office door. "I fear Jim is not comfortable when he is alone with me."

Leonard did not need to work hard to verbalize his surprise. "You must be crazy!"

"Do not," Spock said, voice suddenly dropping to an ominous note, "say that again."

Promptly he repeated, "Crazy!" Leonard's streak of mischief, his mother had once claimed, was a mile wide.

Spock turned around with one of his expressionless but expertly fearsome looks.

"Crazy, crazy, crazy," Leonard sang and fought the upward turn of his mouth.

"I find you annoying, Mr. McCoy."

"I can tell. You've even wearing an annoyed expression."

The muscles in Spock's face twitched once, involuntarily at the accusation, before they smoothed out again. Wordlessly, Spock extricated his arm from Leonard's grip.

"None of that now," Leonard chastised, catching Spock before he got more than two steps away. "Let's have a chat."

"No."

"Yes."

"_I will not_," Spock snipped.

"Mm," Leonard murmured, not the least bit intimidated. "How about—well, no. We can't both squeeze into your office without knocking over half of the yesterday's supplies delivery." Decided, Leonard towed Spock toward the rear exit of the shop. "I need some fresh air anyway."

A minute later Spock, standing next to a green dumpster, deadpanned, "This air is not fresh."

Leonard dug a carton out of his pocket and tapped out a cigarette. "We live in a city with more people than places to put them. What did you expect?" He thought for a half-second about sloping countryside and acres of farmland and felt a pang of homesickness. If he went back to visit— But, no. There was no going back because there was nothing to go back to. Not just craving a cigarette now but needing to steady himself with the familiar motion, he lit it and shoved it between his lips.

Spock eyed the cigarette with something less like distaste and more like hate. "There are ways to fight your addiction, Leonard."

"Who says I'm addicted?" Leonard shot back, purposefully blowing a lungful of smoke at Spock's shoulder.

Spock positioned himself closer to the dumpster. Clearly he would rather smell of trash than smoke. Leonard grinned and mentioned this.

"If you must, speak your mind," Spock said with unusual impatience. He never seemed appreciative of Leonard's sense of humor.

"What did Jim say?"

"He said nothing of importance."

Leonard considered that. "So what did you ask him?"

"I asked what I should not have." Spock's eyes darkened. Not with anger, Leonard mused, but with sadness.

"And you got an answer you didn't want to hear."

"Yes."

Leonard dropped the barely smoked cigarette and ground it beneath his shoe. "Spock, not that I think Jim's a liar but maybe he's sensitive about some subjects and can't say all that he wants to."

"As you are?" Spock countered quietly.

He nodded. "Just like me, only I figure he's ten times worse."

Spock's lips twitched. "I highly doubt that." Then his voice grew somber. "Leonard."

Leonard glanced upward, catching sight of a burnt-orange sky between the buildings, and tried not to sigh. It was coming, the question he always dreaded. "Go on."

"You have been grieving."

His heels met the ground, shocked out the notion of flight by such a blunt truth. "Yeah," he said without thinking, "I have."

Maybe it wasn't just compassion in Spock's eyes; Leonard had an unexplained hunch Spock was feeling empathetic too, though he could not fathom why. Then Spock said: "I grieved for the loss of my father for many years, though he is living. There are times," his voice died momentarily, came back, "when I find myself still locked in grief. Or anger. Often I cannot distinguish between them."

His throat tightening, Leonard accepted the unspoken offer to share in a secret. "How did you lose him?"

"He let me go."

"Oh," Leonard said. Then with more understanding, "_Oh._Can you, I mean, is it all right if I ask why?"

Spock nodded slightly just before he continued. "My father comes from a culture in which arranged marriages are both common and expected, particularly of the eldest son. His first wife was chosen by his own father. I did not know this until I was old enough to understand as an adult. The explanation came upon the heels of an announcement of my engagement to a person I had never met. I told my father I could not adhere to a practice I believed to be unsuitable as well as archaic. Then I explained it was unlikely I would marry a woman, even if the idea of an arranged marriage was not abhorrent to me. He... did not wish to hear this."

"Oh damn, Spock. I'm sorry."

"I assumed he knew me as I knew myself. I was wrong. I was of age when it happened and moved ahead with my plans to become independent. When I left, however, it was not with his blessing, or his understanding, and we have not spoken since."

Damn and double-damn. "I wished you'd never had to go through that with your family."

"It was only my father who was unhappy. I am not a son who can meet his expectations."

Leonard bit back a heated rebuttal of _Clearly your father's expectations are fucking poorly defined!_ "That's—that's just _shitty _but, Spock, you have a right to live your life as you want and to be happy." Why can't people realize this? he wanted to say but did not. Likely Spock would have no better understanding than Leonard did.

"I know this. That is why I left. I hope—" Spock sounded so sad, Leonard's heart ached. "—there can be a reconciliation some day."

"I—" Leonard grimaced. "You're just going to have bear with me while I hug you. It's not my fault I smell like smoke."

"I do not understand why you enjoy making claims which are blatantly untrue," Spock said as he accepted the hug.

"All the better to confuse you, my dear."

Spock's fingers drifted into his hair, unconcerned with sarcasm or dry wit or any dig Leonard might make at him. "I am not confused."

Leonard relaxed into the embrace. He could pull away, probably should pull away now, but his courage wasn't as shaky if he kept his face tucked in the juncture between Spock's neck and shoulder. He could do this, he could. Time to own up to his own secret.

"It was my family," he said so tightly, so quietly, it was wonder anyone could hear the words. "My parents and my b-brother. Car accident." A band of fresh grief tightened across his chest, squeezing air from his lungs. Why is it talking about this with Spock made the words hurt that much worse? A moment passed before Leonard could speak again. "Spock," he whispered, "he was young, _so fucking young. It's not f-fair._"

Would Spock think him weak because of the tears? Didn't matter. Leonard couldn't stop them if he wanted to.

"Leonard," Spock said gently and the name sounded like so many things, painful kind things; none of it born of pity.

Leonard confessed the worst of it. "Peter wasn't dead—" _Breathe._"—on arrival l-like... but I didn't make it to the hospital before—" he gasped for air, "—before—" but was unable to finish when no air came, only a sob which he ferociously bit down upon yet could not stop. Muffling the sound against fabric and flesh, the thought hit him again and again like a relentless, terrorizing agent, freed from the dark place where Leonard had hidden his guilt. His brother died without him, with strangers and horrendous pain and no one who loved him to hold his hand. Leonard had failed to be there and somehow, in the blackest moment of his life, had hated Peter deeply for not waiting for him, for not surviving one hour longer so he could—

It was momentous and dreadful, the thought. Leonard wept bitterly on Spock's shoulder. Spock, who knew nothing of Leonard's great terribleness, held him tenderly and let him cry.

In those moments, they resolved nothing concerning Jim. Leonard remembered that fact once they had returned to the shop and Jim, silent, watched them closely. Yet Kirk did not ask about Leonard's reddened eyes or Spock's calm, reassuring touches while Leonard washed a battered coffee pot and miserably failed at pretending he hadn't just laid out the pieces of his broken heart and sobbed over them.

Soon, with everyone working quietly and keeping to themselves, Leonard's guilt shrunk to a manageable size. He placed the last washed item on the drain board to dry and tentatively offered to cook dinner. Spock made a vague sound that could have been either agreement or dissension.

"We should go to the supermarket first. It's my turn to buy," Jim said, breaking his silent reverie.

"You'll get no complaints from me on that score. Spock?" Spock's head tilted. Leonard wished his eyes didn't ache and squinted against the bright light in the kitchen. He tossed out the question "What do y'all want to eat?"

Jim shrugged and wrung a mop over a bucket of dirty water. Spock did not bother to respond.

Wiping his hands on a towel, Leonard said, "The McCoy special it is, then. Who's driving?" Which was a moot question because nobody drove Spock's car but Spock. Leonard simply wanted to see if they were actually listening.

Jim, bless his heart, asked with a hint of interest, "What's the McCoy special?"

Leonard eyed the other person in the kitchen, however, whose nose was stuck in an accounting ledger. His answer to the question was absent-minded at best. "Catfish, bacon bits, and a dash of hot sauce." Leonard raised his voice slightly. "Jim'll drive. And he said he doesn't believe in stoplights!"

Spock's pen continued to tick back and forth like a metronome. Jim slid his bucket across the floor to stand beside McCoy. The scraping noise didn't seem to perturb their employer at all.

"Has he suddenly gone deaf?" Leonard whispered to Kirk.

"Math" was all Jim said. "It's better than sex."

Leonard snorted. "If that's what Spock thinks, then what an utter travesty. We'll have to fix that."

Jim slanted a glance at him, one Leonard could not interpret, and relinquished the mop handle to Leonard. Then he walked over to Spock at the table and poked a shoulder. The pen stopped and Spock looked up, his blinking gaze still transfixed on some imaginary number.

Jim smiled down at Spock fondly. "Feeding time."

Spock put his pen aside with an uncomprehending "Feeding time?"

Leonard really loved them both in that moment. He cleared his throat. "It's time for dinner, Spock. Will you drive us to the store?"

"I will," Spock said, closing his ledger and standing up.

* * *

Dinner was a simple affair of good food and good company. The meal wasn't catfish and bacon bits like Bones had initially said—or teased?—but a kind of buttery pasta that sated Jim's taste buds. Jim was finally relaxed and somewhat drowsy propped in his dining chair; Leonard had made the comment that a man who had had a hard day deserved a rewarding nap and Jim was about to take him at his word.

Idly, his thoughts replayed the comment but this time Jim stalled on the 'hard day' and wondered what was so particularly hard about today. Why had Bones been upset? His brain, unfortunately, woke up and drew an unpleasant conclusion: whatever had happened between Spock and McCoy was a private moment, one they felt Jim didn't need to be included in. He could push for an explanation but then he would look like an ass trying to elbow in where he wasn't wanted.

Regardless, the exclusion stung.

"I'm goin' to bed," McCoy announced, pushing back from the dining table. Then his eyes skated across the remnants of their dinner. "After clean-up." He began to pick up plates and glasses. Jim leaned forward to help but Spock had commandeered a majority of the silverware in a matter of seconds and swiftly followed Leonard to the kitchen.

Jim dropped his napkin to the table, picked up the single glass left on the table—his—and trailed after them.

"You are tired," Spock was saying to Bones. "Allow me—"

"Hands off, Spock. I cooked, so I'll clean."

"Since you cooked, you should _not _clean," Spock corrected.

It was an amusing sight, the way Leonard twisted his body to block Spock from the sink and Spock snaked a hand over Leonard's shoulder to steal the sponge. "Thief!" Leonard cried. He pointed a soapy finger at Spock's nose but Spock refused to cross his eyes. "Don't think I didn't see your head nodding over your bowl! Be glad you didn't do somethin' embarrassing like drown in your soup!"

"We had no soup." Spock was slowly but surely edging into McCoy's personal space.

Jim shook his head in disbelief. Why did they argue over such mundane things? Somebody had to intervene, he supposed. Jim snuck up behind them and respectively snaked a possessive arm around each waist. Spock, startling, moved away like Jim suspected he would. Leonard, on the other hand, turned to look at Jim, eyebrow raised.

Jim held up the sponge he had pilfered from Spock in his moment of inattention and grinned. "I think you're both tired. And cranky. I'll do the dishes."

Leonard's eyes inspected Jim closely, as if he was a man-sized booby trap. "What's the difference between bleach and dish detergent? Does Spock have a garbage disposal? Have you had your tetanus shot?"

"Um, bleach is for clothes and if ingested kills you, and yes, and yes. What's with the third degree, Bones?"

Leonard nodded once, satisfied. "I guess you'll be okay." He stared at the double sink full of pots and dishware one last time. "Watch out for the knives."

"Thank you," Jim responded dryly. "I'm sure they are make a much scarier gang than the forks and spoons."

"Just don't stab yourself, kid" came the pointed comment and ceiling-ward eyeroll. Leonard stepped back to allow Jim unhindered access to the sink and, as a bonus, ushered Spock away. Jim heard Bones saying, "C'mon, we'll check the first-aid kit. I am certain everything will be fine." It was meant to be a challenge for Kirk and reassurance for Spock.

Despite being unable to make out the actual reply, Jim grinned at Spock's doubtful tone.

He located the chef's knife at the bottom of the stack of dishes and flipped it end over end in his hand. Don't cut himself? That was laughable. But Jim wasn't going to explain that his first lesson on the street had been how to wield an open blade and where to stab a man to do the most damage in the shortest amount of time. Hopefully, there would never be a need for Bones or Spock to learn that about him—or any of the other dangerous skills he had cultivated simply to survive.

* * *

Mindless work like washing, scrubbing and drying soothed Kirk. He followed up his chore by puttering about the kitchen, making certain the other groceries were put away and all food containers in the refrigerator were tightly sealed. Then, having nothing left to do, Jim went to the guest bedroom. Oddly, the bed was unoccupied.

Tapping on the closed bathroom door, he queried, "Bones?"

McCoy's voice rang out. "Done in a minute! Spock's gettin' ready in his bathroom, I think. We'll be in his room tonight."

In ...Spock's room. Spock's bedroom. Spock's _bed_. Jim's brain absorbed this news like a turtle trying to cross the road, with stops and starts and hiding his head (in his hands) in-between. Eventually he realized by "we" Leonard meant all three of them. That conclusion was followed by a certain knowledge: if he _didn't _join them tonight, the message would be he had lied about what he wanted.

And it wasn't a lie, just a desperate hope that was perhaps coming true sooner than expected.

It was natural, then, that Jim felt some concern when Leonard came out of the bathroom half-naked.

"What's the matter with you?" McCoy asked him upon seeing his face.

"Nothing! I'm great, Bones—more than great!"

Leonard just shook his head in a sad way and left Jim to his own devices. In short order Jim had locked himself in the bathroom and indulged in a minor freak out where no one could judge him. Drowning his head in a sink full of cold water did nothing to calm his nerves, however, though it did succeed in making Jim slightly dizzy. Finally he settled for sitting on the tile floor and toweling his face, thinking through every possible scenario.

Minutes crept by.

It wasn't like he lacked in experience or had never found himself in bed with multiple partners. No, he wasn't worried over anything which would make an average man nervous. What made a difference was something much simpler: Spock and Bones were waiting for him. And as thrilling as that sounded, it was also terrified Jim to death.

How did people do this when the person mattered?

How could it possibly be done when there were _two _persons who mattered? Wasn't that twice the odds of failing?

Jim glared at the sink cabinet and barely refrained from giving it a frustrated kick. Here he was in the best, most fantasized about moment of his life and he couldn't even...

Jim transferred his glare to his perfectly useless body. "I hate you," he told it.

Someone knocked on the door. "Jim, unless you're explaining to the fairy under the sink the proper way to clean a drain, stop dawdling and get out here!"

His body twitched with apprehension. "I don't 'dawdle'!" Only Southerners, Jim thought, could infuse a silly word with so much bossiness. And what was that crack about fairies? Leonard confused the hell out of him sometimes.

"Just get out here" came the grunt through the door. Bones gave the wood a last token thump before he left.

Jim stood up. "This is the moment of truth," he said to the mirror's reflection.

The face looking back at him was frightened. Jim did not find that consoling at all.

* * *

"Is he ill?"

"How should I know?" Leonard said, slipping into Spock's bed. But he did know. "If I had to guess, I'd say he was scared."

Spock stared at him as if that would encourage more explanation.

"I said I don't know," he repeated stubbornly.

Hesitation crept into Spock's voice. "Could he... be afraid of us?"

"You might look like the bogeyman but I don't." Leonard stretched out on his back. "Listen, Jim probably hasn't done this much, with the real feelings and everything. It has to be weird for him."

"Nor have I."

Leonard sighed. "Yes, I know." He refrained from saying 'told you this was a bad idea, you pushy dolt'. "We go slow. That's all we can do. Okay?"

Interpreting Spock's silence as agreement, Leonard closed his eyes and tried not to think too hard.

* * *

Bones was mumbling under his breath when Jim entered Spock's bedroom; well, the mumbling might not have been mumbling but that's all Jim could hear since Leonard had the bed covers drawn up to his nose. Spock sounded exceedingly patient as he responded to McCoy's complaints and subtle squirms. "I believe we had this conversation last time, Leonard. Please contain any restless movements to your half of the bed."

Leonard flipped down the covers. "I don't get a half of the bed anymore, you dimwit! I'm lucky if I'll get a third. Jim's probably a kicker."

"He could be no worse than you," Spock muttered.

Jim didn't have to see the movement under the covers this time to know Leonard tried to kick Spock.

"Hey," Jim said, feeling awkward and like the odd man out.

They just looked at him, clearly not sharing his apprehension. Leonard asked, "Do you want the edge or the middle?"

If he picked, who would he offend?

Leonard snuck a glance at Spock. "You could take the middle," he suggested. "Spock would probably thank you."

And that was how Jim wound up between Spock and Leonard in bed—not quite the way he had imagined his getting there. Once fully ensconced beneath a sheet and a duvet, Jim waited three seconds before asking, "So, what now?" He winced internally. _Not smooth, Kirk. Not smooth at all._

Leonard turned on his side with a sigh. "What's supposed to happen, kid. We sleep."

"Oh."

Fingers brushed against his arm under the covers. He might have expected that from Bones but not Spock. Jim turned his head.

"Are you comfortable?" Spock inquired.

Jim nodded.

Jim's hair stirred. Bones said, voice working slowly, "'s not goin' to work." He curled close against Jim's back. Jim leaned into him unthinkingly and tugged Bones' arm over his waist.

"Better," the man huffed drowsily. Then he fit his foot against Jim's calf and seemed content to be still. Jim heard no more from him other than increasingly deep breaths.

After a time, Jim whispered into the dark room, "...Bones likes to cuddle."

"It would seem so" came the quiet reply.

"Is this okay, Spock?"

After a long minute of silence, Jim feared there would be no reply. When it came, it still surprised him.

"Yes, Jim, because you are here."

It was a long time before Jim's heart stopped pounding over a simple remark and longer still until he fell asleep.


	25. Part Twenty Five

" Why am I not surprised to see you?" Leonard tossed over his shoulder.

Jocelyn ignored him as she stepped into his apartment and proceeded to look horrified by her surroundings. "Oh my god, you _live_ here? It's like a box. A condemned box." She eyed something on the floor. "A _diseased_, condemned box."

"That's my underwear," Leonard said, indignant and flushed. He scooped the boxers up and, not having a proper place to put the underwear, shoved it under a couch cushion.

Jocelyn hid her face in her hands and muttered something. Leonard dared not try to figure out what she was saying. "Okay," she announced at last, dropping her hands, "this is not my best idea ever, by far, but you can move in with me."

Leonard boggled.

"Clay won't mind. And this is, this is..." Jocelyn faltered and avoided eye-contact with kitchenette (that is, the one blackened hotplate by the sink) and said determinedly, "You're my friend. I won't let you live in squalor."

"Clay would definitely mind," Leonard told her once he rediscovered the ability to speak. "Oh, he would mind, Joss, believe me. I would mind. 'N I do not live in _squalor_."

She pointed at an overflowing trash can, two mountainous piles of empty beer cans and clothes, an up-ended pot of ramen on the floor that had bugs bathing in it, and his sagging, old couch with the boxers peeking out from under a cushion.

Leonard winced. "I've been gone a couple of days. I forgot to take out the trash."

"Ew, Leonard."

"I'm a guy, all right! These things don't occur to me until the mold becomes sentient!"

Jocelyn laughed and tried weakly to smack him with her purse. "Where can I sit?" she asked, sobering.

"I guess I shouldn't say with the roaches?"

Jocelyn commandeered his wooden chair but not before she pulled out a packet of napkins from her purse and wiped the seat to her satisfaction. Leonard was fairly certain his apartment was not disease-ridden (okay, maybe the bug community disagreed) but he was wise enough not to argue with her about it.

"So..." he began once they were settled, "wanna tell me why you're here?"

"I'm visiting. Don't I get to visit?"

"We could visit at your place. Or did you just want to be reminded of my great housekeeping skills?" His fingers, resting on his knees, twitched. Leonard was a little embarrassed after all.

In Jocelyn's lap, her purse folded in half under the pressure of her hands but she sounded very calm when she said, "What I want is to make certain you don't dump me again."

"Dump you?" Leonard echoed.

Her eyes studied a worn patch on the couch. "We are friends, aren't we, Len? I mean, you didn't need me to just—" Jocelyn flicked her eyes to him then bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry. I'm acting foolish."

Leonard sorted through what she didn't say and was surprised by his conclusion. "Do you really think...? Jocelyn. Jocelyn," he repeated her name in earnest as he leaned forward to touch the back of her hand. "If you're afraid I'm going to push you away again, don't be. I'm smart enough not to make the same mistake twice."

Her sigh was a soft, sad sound. "You don't need me now, I think. Isn't that why you haven't called me in two weeks?"

Stunned, he disagreed, "Of course not! I just haven't—" Oh damn. How awful would be if he had finished that sentence and told her he hadn't actually thought of her once in several days? Leonard concluded with real regret, "I'm a bad friend. Shit. I'm sorry, Joss."

She nodded slowly. "Okay, apology accepted. But if you're serious about us," Jocelyn warned with a hint of fire in her voice, "you won't stay out of touch for more than five days at a time. I worry."

With a quirk of his mouth, Leonard called her on that lie. "First, one phone call a week isn't going to stop you worrying if you've set your mind to it. Second, I think we both know if I was constantly 'in touch' with you, Clay would have an aneurysm—or simply try to break my face."

"Clay's a sweetheart."

"I'm sure he is but he's also a man in love, Jocelyn. If he thought I was poaching, he'd be about as sweet as a bear. An awkward, skinny bear, maybe, but still a bear. Third, that demand is just ridiculous."

Jocelyn inspected her nails. "Men are more prone to behavioral regression than women. Why is my request ridiculous?"

"Demand," he corrected smartly. "It's ridiculous because you don't want me bothering you that often. Also, I have a life of my own."

She widened her eyes. "You do? With who?"

Leonard groaned. He walked right into that, which was undoubtedly where Jocelyn had been herding him the entire time. "I don't have to answer any nosy questions."

Jocelyn's eyes widened a little more. Her mouth trembled.

"Stop that! It's not working on me, Joss!" He put his hands over his eyes but couldn't help peeking at her seconds later. Her look of hurt was so perfect it was clearly fake. Yet somehow it still had power over him. Leonard cursed. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Everything!" she cried happily. "Let's start with: where are you living?"

"Here?"

"Pssh," she responded, flapping away that claim with her hand. "Clay says you don't walk home anymore; you ride with Spock and sometimes Jim in that lovely expensive car. Spock drives west. You don't live on the west side of town!" Her spread hands implied _obviously!_

Leonard was horrified. "Clay is spying on me?"

"Why are you surprised? You knew he was spying."

"The one time!" Leonard cried. "I didn't know you were crazy enough to make him tail me permanently!"

Jocelyn made a fizzling noise and stood up. Leonard didn't realize what was going to happen until too late.

"Fuck!" He clutched at his leg.

"I am not crazy!" Her incensed expression said she was considering kicking him a second time.

"Do you terrorize your fiancée like this too?" he asked through gritted teeth. Clay must go to bed crying at night.

"It's your fault!"

"The hell it is!" And what was his fault anyway? Her insanity? Her abuse of poor Clay?

"You don't keep me informed!" Jocelyn shot back. "I just explained this to you!"

Leonard rubbed his shin one last time and sat up. "When did you explain what to me?"

She clutched her purse in a manner which indicated she was restraining herself from throwing it at his head in frustration. "You don't call, stupid. You're supposed to _talk_ to me and _tell_ me things so I don't have to ask someone to _spy _on you or set up meetings with your—" Jocelyn stopped abruptly and put a hand to her mouth.

Leonard had no words, or at least he didn't think he did until they stumbled out of his mouth, all tangled up. "You don't, oh fuck, you're not... you _are_. Jesus. With both of them?" The idea was preposterous, _impossible_, and yet no one had a better chance of doing such a preposterous and impossible thing than Jocelyn. (He worried vaguely that Jim or Spock would turn out to be just like her.)

"No?" Jocelyn relaxed her grip on her purse and sat down. "Oh, it doesn't matter, Len. My point is that because you won't tell me about your life, I have to find out how you're doing from other people. It's just awful. It's like before. The last time you shut me out," she said more quietly, "almost ended our friendship. I don't want to lose you."

He mulled over that and figured he had to admit the truth. "I feel too awkward," he said. "Telling you about—I mean, Joss, we _dated_. We talked about marriage and kids. Do you really want to hear about my love life?"

"I want to hear about your life, period. Who you chose to share your heart with is a part of that." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "We were friends before we were lovers, Len."

"So you aren't bothered at all?"

She was momentarily silent before she answered. "I think if we hadn't been friends first, it would have hurt to know you're happier with someone else. If it doesn't work out with Clay, it will hurt me when he moves on. But, Leonard, you're different. I was trying to help you find happiness with someone long before I ever thought I might be that person—and, well, just because I wasn't does not mean it is something to regret. To be honest, I feel relieved."

"Why?" he asked, knowing she wouldn't mean to imply anything hurtful by what she had said.

"We could have married. More than likely, if we had, we would have divorced when we finally realized we weren't right for each other as a couple. Can you imagine staying friends after that?"

"Not really," he admitted.

Jocelyn gave him a weak smile.

Leonard slumped into the couch. It never failed to amaze him how much sense she could make sometimes. "All right, I see your point. I'll tell you about Jim and Spock but only if—" He fought down a blush and drummed his fingers on his thigh. "—I don't have to share the intimate details." Jocelyn laughed and that annoyed him. "What's so funny?"

"Do you want me to describe how Clay and I make love?"

Leonard clamped his hands over his ears. "Oh god _no! _Not another word, Joss, or I swear on every holy saint I will find a way to open that window and throw myself out of it!"

She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Drama Queen. See? Nobody wants to hear those kinds of details about their friends! So you spare me and I'll spare you."

Cautiously he lowered his hands. "But you asked before."

"I am saddened that you are so gullible."

"How was I to know you were goading me!"

Jocelyn arranged the folds of her skirt and crossed her legs. "You take things too seriously, Len. Now, can we get back to our chat?"

"Thought we were arguin'," he muttered.

"Best friends do not argue," she said primly.

He snorted. "Or kick each other in the leg."

Jocelyn narrowed her eyes and he wisely shut up. "About the meetings..." she began.

"Who do I have to kill?" Leonard butted in. "Jim or Spock or both of them?"

"Neither. Spock and I met, ironically, for coffee one time. We talked about science."

Leonard wasn't certain he believed that.

"Jim, on the other hand, I would love to gossip with on a regular basis." Jocelyn pursed her lips, bothered. "I may have coincidentally run into him at the grocery store. He waved politely and not-so-subtly avoided me. So I guess he was actually rude?"

Leonard just shook his head. "Lately Jim's been as jumpy as cat in a room full of rockin' chairs. He has nightmares," Leonard explained, his worry rising to the forefront of his thoughts. "Is it normal to have nightmares three or four times a week?"

"It can be a symptom of a lot of things. So you're sleeping with him?"

"In some sense of the word, or I was. I tried getting him to talk about what's bothering him and that blew up in my face." Sighing, Leonard rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Spock's not too pleased Jim is bunking at his own place again."

"Hm," Jocelyn murmured thoughtfully. "What's his address?"

"No. _No_, Jocelyn. That's not going to help!"

"He won't talk to you or Spock. He'll talk to me. I'm a veritable stranger, aren't I? And I'm not someone he is sleeping with."

"You mean he might talk to you."

Her smile was more ruthless than playful. "Who says Kirk's going to have a choice?"

Leonard thought the terror he felt was very appropriate for the situation. In the end, however, Jocelyn got her way and Jim's address.

* * *

"I told you," a woman with short hair and no expression stated flatly as Jim opened the door, "I would kill you if you hurt Leonard."

Jim did the smart thing and shut the door again—or he tried to. Leonard's ex-girlfriend knocked it right out of his hands with a purse that had to be laden with bricks.

"You can't come in," Jim said, taking a wide stance, though the woman made no move to breach the threshold of his apartment.

"You haven't invited me in," she agreed. "So invite me in."

"Fuck off, lady."

"My name is Jocelyn, Jim. You have my permission to use it."

"I don't know why you're here, and I don't care," Jim said. "Leave."

"Why the hostility? Is it because I threatened you?"

Jim ground his back teeth. His night had already been piss-poor and if his hands were not balled into fists they would be shaking from days of fitful sleep. "Don't psycho-analyze me on my own doorstep."

Oddly, Jocelyn laughed. "That's something Len would say! What else is he teaching you?" She craned her neck to see around him. "Clearly you picked up his tendency to be a slob."

Jim couldn't decide if he was insulted or amused on Bones' behalf. "...You can't say that about him."

"Oh, I can. I'm his friend. Which is why I am here, Jim. He's concerned about you, and so I feel concern for you on his behalf."

"Concerned people don't generally announce they are going to kill me."

"Then you have never met the real Leonard McCoy."

He couldn't help a hint of smile at that. This woman was too smart for her own good.

"Can I come in?"

Jim considered her, how small in stature she actually was; she wouldn't physically be able to overpower him but that meant nothing in the scheme of things. He stepped aside. "Remind me later to thank Bones profusely for telling you where I live."

"I rather think," Jocelyn said, placing her purse on the floor and taking a few tentative steps into the middle of his living room, "you ought to be living elsewhere." Frowning as she inspected one of the shelving units built into the wall, Jocelyn muttered, "How interesting."

A normal man might have felt self-conscious to have another person in his home, judging it; Jim had never called this apartment 'home', for a reason, and thus he felt nothing. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and waited for the questions. Bones' friend always had questions, generally ones he did not like.

Instead she turned to him and requested politely, "May I have some water?"

"Ice?"

"Yes, please."

Jim uncoiled his muscles and went to a small kitchen area. When he came back with the ice water, Jocelyn was poking at the items on the shelving unit. Dust stirred as she inched a book to the side. "Are these yours?" She accepted the glass he handed to her and took a small sip of water.

"No. The place was furnished when I moved in."

"And the little china figurine?"

"Not mine. It's junk," he told her. What did it matter anyway?

Jocelyn turned to study a pair of dirty socks on the floor. "I guess those came furnished too."

"The maid quit."

"Tragic," she said airily and pointed to a table and two chairs. "Mind if I sit?"

Jim stayed still. "I'm not going to stop you."

"You're an interesting man, Jim Kirk," Jocelyn said as she sat down and gave him her full attention. "Why did you want a relationship with Leonard and Spock if you weren't planning to make it work?"

If he flinched, it was because he was caught by surprise her use of the past tense. "Nothing's wrong with us," he lied, "and also it's none of your business."

"I'm not having that conversation with you again. I gave you my reasons. So tell me why you are trying to ruin things."

"I'm not!" he blurted out before he could stop himself. "Shut up!"

She looked pitying, like she knew he had been telling himself to shut up and not her. "Jim, you are. I can't decide if it's a conscious choice on your part. You did try to isolate yourself from them before."

"That was—" He felt the lie even as he said it. "—a mistake."

"Oh, Jim," the woman said.

He knew that tone, had heard that tone before: when a school teacher watched him pretend not to care that he had been caught forging his mother's signature on a permission slip for a field trip (somehow she knew, like everybody in town, that Jim's mother could not be roused from one of her stupors to do it herself); when the waitress he slept with a few times at a bar in Memphis turned him down for a final tryst because she had a boyfriend who wanted to take her back and she knew he had no one waiting for him; on the day he encountered Bones and Spock in some random place and the two men were together, still, and happy and Jim was a thing of their past—

He closed his eyes and willed the pain to leave him alone. "Get out, Jocelyn."

"Jim?"

"If you can bring yourself to do a nice thing for someone someday, let it be today," he said, voice not quite steady. He felt numb; it had to because he couldn't sleep. "I need you to leave."

Silence. Then he heard the scrape of the chair legs against the floor, the rustle of a coat.

Jim opened his eyes to the sight of Jocelyn standing an arm's length from him instead of picking up her purse. "Oh, Jim," she said for the second time, and her face crumpled.

Alarmed and shocked, he didn't know what to do when the woman—this strange woman he didn't really know—hugged him and started crying. He lifted a hand and put it on her left shoulder blade.

"Hey, don't cry."

Jocelyn cried harder.

Jim shifted, uncomfortable, and tried patting her back. "Whatever I said, I'm sorry. Jocelyn?" He was shit with this comforting stuff, and she really needed to stop crying because the sound of her sobs were just like his mother's on the days she remembered he was her son, not just some random kid who lived in the house, and then she started crying "George, George" and the tears went on forever. And Jim, being a stupid kid, always cried with her, feeling so bad, so overwhelmingly bad about it all.

Jim hated the tears that began to prick at his eyes and begged, "Please stop crying. Please!" He promised irrationally, "I'll fix it, I swear I will!"

Jocelyn's breath hitched but she quelled a sob to ask, "You promise?"

"...Yes." And what had he just promised to do? Oh shit.

"Good," Jocelyn said, pulling away and wiping her face with the backs of her hands. "That's really good, Jim. I just know if you tell them everything, you'll be all right."

Jim blanched and the world swayed. Or maybe he did. He wasn't certain. His voice, like his body, didn't seem to want to work either. "W-What?"

"I can tell you've been hurt very badly. Your face earlier—I don't know what memory that was but your pain showed."

He shook his head mutely, moved away from her. She was wrong because he was careful. He had never let _anyone _see so deeply into him before.

"Jim, no, it's all right. You're safe here."

Shit, shit, shit. How could she know about the bag? That he was thinking about the duffle bag, back in its hiding place but so close within reach?

Jocelyn grabbed his hand like that might prevent his escape. Jim regained his footing, though. He stilled his breath, tried to calm his heart rate to something that didn't reach dire levels. He realized belatedly Jocelyn was actually coaching him to do so.

She squeezed his hand. "You should sit down."

He opened his mouth, only to close it again when she guided him to the chair and pushed him into it.

"That was a panic attack," she told him.

"It was?" he asked in surprise.

"The beginnings of one. I said something to trigger it. I'm terribly sorry, Jim."

"I-It's okay. I'm okay," he answered, voice somewhat weak.

"Jim..." Jocelyn looked guilty. "I should have known better. Sometimes I think I know more than I do. Please forgive me, _please_."

"Okay."

For some reason, his easy acquiescence caused Jocelyn to look even guiltier. She chewed on her bottom lip. "Len's going to kill me when he finds out!"

His limbs felt heavy, his response sluggish. Jim forced himself to sit up straight and focus. That meant clinging to the edge of the chair seat with his free hand. "Bones won't know. I won't tell him."

"Well, I don't get that choice," she said, miserable. "I have to tell him."

She wasn't making sense again. "Why?"

"He trusted me to come here and not make a mess of things or hurt you. I screwed up, but it would be a bigger screw-up if I wasn't honest about it and he found out later."

Jim's thoughts cleared slightly. "But who's to say he will find out?"

Jocelyn sighed and patted his hand. She had yet to let it go. "That doesn't matter. He _trusts _me, Jim. And he cares about me like he cares about you, except maybe not as much or in the same way—"

Swallowing, Jim didn't think she could know what those words meant to him.

"—but I have to believe it's enough that he won't be angry for too long and will forgive me."

"Bones would forgive you," Jim whispered in agreement.

She squeezed his hand one last time and released him. "Yes. He's a good man with a generous heart. I'm lucky."

Jocelyn might as well have said _you're the lucky one_. Jim shoved his fingers through his hair. "I know. Shit, I know. Because of Spock, too."

When Jocelyn spoke again, after a long minute, it was with quiet conviction. "Maybe you think you've done a lot of things wrong in your life, Jim, but the truth is what happened in the past doesn't matter as much as what happens now. In this moment, you do not trust the two people who trust you. Or in the case of Len, who wants to trust you with his pain but can't until you trust him with yours."

Bitterness swelled at the back of his throat. "You can only give out your trust so many times and live to regret it before—never mind," Jim said. "You wouldn't understand." He was surprised when she didn't argue with that.

Jocelyn retrieved her purse and turned for the door. "What I said about telling them everything? Forget that for now. Work on trusting them first. That is all I will ask you do to keep your promise, Jim. Goodbye, and I hope our next meeting is under happier circumstances." She let herself out.

Jim waited until he could no longer hear footsteps in the hall to confess aloud, "I wish I remembered how."


	26. Part Twenty Six

**I rewrote this four or five times. No lie. Two parts left.**

* * *

On the day Jim returned to work, the sun was fighting the darkness in the sky. The streets were damp, like the air, and everything seemed slightly off, had the faintly sinister atmosphere of a noir-esque film. Trees were scattered blotches of gray, drooping within their designated plots alongside the sidewalks; last night's rain had blackened the tents over shop doors and vendor carts. Occasionally, color flashed in the distance: a scarf, an umbrella, a traffic officer's yellow slicker boots. But no one lingered in the open.

Jim's coat was a lackluster shield from a winter-like chill so he kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his chin tucked against his chest. It wasn't until he let himself into his place of work via the back door that he met blessed heat. His bones melted with relief.

Across the kitchen area, Spock switched off the running faucet at the sink upon hearing Kirk's entrance; his shoulders noticeably stiffened. He did not turn around.

Jim's throat worked once, a reflexive motion. He shed his coat and cautiously approached his employer, aware of what he owed the man.

"Spock... I'm sorry."

What he had said had been undeserved. At the time, all Jim could think about was that Spock was taking Bones' side and how _unfair _that was (did no one care how much it killed him to talk about dreams—really, memories—that made him feel like small, alone, and like an unwanted child again?). His fear culminating into anger, Jim had lashed out at Spock with "If you think I owe you anything for your kindness and your pity, you're wrong. You'll get nothing from me." Considering Spock's reaction, a physical blow might have been gentler.

The apology stood between them, awkward and unwieldy, for almost a full minute. Finally Spock acknowledged him, but that acknowledgement was too cold to be a concession. He said, "We can talk after hours, Mr. Kirk."

So Jim had fucked up pretty badly then. Nursing hurt feelings over the rejection, he slipped out of the kitchen to begin the morning routine so they could open the shop. Bones wouldn't be in until later, given his penchant for hating mornings, and Jim had no expectation McCoy would greet him more affably than Spock had. Today was obviously going to be shitty, that much was certain now, but Jim would endure it because the other option, leaving and thereby admitting his defeat, would ultimately be worse.

An hour later, the first customer to darken the doorway of the shop was none other than Christopher Pike. In that moment, frozen behind the front counter, Jim felt he ought to reconsider his poor choices in life. (Not only had they led him to this confrontation but had also left him friendless and facing it alone.)

Jim's greeting echoed flatly in the empty shop. "Captain."

"House brew, black. Make it a large," Pike said as he came to the counter and leaned there.

Jim would have sabotaged the order if Pike hadn't been watching him so closely. Pike paid in cash and dropped his change into the tip jar. Instead of leaving, however, the man chose a seat in the middle of the room. The tinge of suspicion Jim was feeling swiftly nose-dived into paranoia. The paranoia only deepened when Pike beckoned him over.

Jim obeyed, albeit grudgingly, and dumped a pile of napkins on the table in an act of innocent charity. "Just in case," he said with the usual half-smirk he reserved for people who made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Older folks tend not to have steady hands."

"I wield a gun," Pike replied, no sign of offense in his face or voice. "When my hands aren't steady, innocent people die, son."

"Don't call me that."

"I call a lot of people 'son'. Some who deserve it—" He looked Jim in the eyes. "—and some who don't."

"I can guess which lot I'm in."

"You would probably guess wrong." Pike's eyes reflected a dark kind of amusement as he spoke.

What the hell was the old man implying? Disturbed, Jim demanded lowly, "What do you want?"

"How's life been treating you these days?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. I thought, for the moment, we might pretend to be civilized."

Jim barked out a laugh. "Didn't you read my file? I was raised by wolves."

"Amazing how a pack of wolves raised you to be a smartass. Have a seat."

Easy to say no. Jim could have but didn't, because Christopher Pike was a man with a fickle temper and Jim figured if not now, eventually someone else would suffer for his refusal to cooperate. He wouldn't take that chance—yet. So he sat.

The conversation was unhurried, like he and Pike were old friends catching up on years gone by.

"You know, Jim, you remind me of myself before I joined the force. I had ambition but no direction. I had talents I didn't think would ever earn me a dime."

"You can belch the alphabet too?"

Pike grinned. "That, unfortunately, was not one of them. But I did have a bravado which frequently landed me in trouble, like you."

Jim rolled his neck to the side and cracked it. "Is this life story going to take more than five minutes? I need to go back to work."

"We have all the time in the world."

"I doubt my boss will see it that way."

Pike leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. "But he's not here, is he?"

Jim narrowed his eyes. "He's in the back."

The broad grin on Pike's face softened into his infamous crazy smile. "Tell me how that's going."

If Jim's hackles weren't already raised, they would have been in that moment. He feigned ignorance. "We ordered a new line of tea, the kind with fruity hyphenated names like pomegranate-blueberry-grapevine. Spock's ecstatic. He worships antioxidants."

The man made a point of glancing at the kitchen door. "Is McCoy here as well?"

"He prefers the afternoon shift."

"Ah. So it works then, this three-man operation."

"Mostly," Jim said, not batting an eye. "We could always use somebody to clean up our shit, though. Want a part-time job as a janitor?"

"I'm laughing on the inside, Kirk."

"Good to know."

A short silence ensued, in which Pike sipped idly at his coffee and looked for all the world like he had nowhere more important to be. Someone had to move or twitch eventually and that was Jim, when the shop door swung open quite without warning and Jim's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He had been too focused on winning the staring contest with Pike.

A snarl proceeded the loud slam of the door. "_I need coffee._"

Jim didn't think twice about abandoning Pike. "Hey, Bones!"

"Don't talk, give me coffee."

He had never been more grateful to hear one of Leonard's grumpy requests in his life. "Sure thing," Jim said soothingly as he slipped behind the counter.

An unhappy McCoy staggered as far as the first available chair, a mere six feet from the entrance, and dropped into it like his knees had unexpectedly given way. He slumped face-forward over a table. Ten seconds later the dark-haired man lifted his head to glare blearily at the world. "Damn it, some_time_ before I _die_, Jim."

Bones' unique brand of crankiness always made Jim unusually cheerful. "One cannot rush art," he declared and began to hum as he tried his hand at shaping espresso foam hearts.

McCoy let his head fall back onto the table and made muffled sounds. Their translation was a distinct "I hate you."

This was good, Jim decided. They were communicating, even if Bones growled more than he used words. And wow, somebody was not a morning person at all. Jim hadn't seen McCoy this uncoordinated since, well, _never_.

He slid a fresh cup of Leonard's preferred brew across the table. Leonard grabbed it and drank, making unbelievably attractive noises that were both greedy and satisfied. Jim sat down at the table to shield the evidence of a sudden arousal.

"So," he began when McCoy looked slightly less glassy-eyed, "you're in early."

"Thank you, Capt'n Obvious," grunted his companion. Then Bones sighed. "I don't know why I'm here, to be honest."

Jim almost reached out to touch him, to say _you don't know how glad I am that you are _and remembered Pike. He stuck his hands under the table instead.

McCoy kept talking. "It's _her _fault. Jesus, my place wasn't that bad." He rubbed a hand over his face. "'S the last time I let Joss in, ever. There's no such thing as a cleaning house party, shoulda known that." His mouth puckered in displeasure.

Jim nodded and showed his sympathy because that's what a good friend did, especially a boyfriend, no matter if his comprehension of the rant was almost nil. There had been a flare of panic at the mention of Jocelyn's name but Jim had swiftly quelled it.

Finally in a state to think, Leonard focused on Jim, truly noting his presence for the first time and not just Jim's immediate connection to a caffeine fix. McCoy's expression hinted at concern as he studied Jim's face. "You all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Jocelyn said—"

Jim's lovely theory that maybe, just maybe, Jocelyn hadn't told Leonard about yesterday flew out the window. He cut into Leonard's sentence on purpose, keenly aware they were not alone. "It's fine, Bones."

"Jim..."

Jim stared over Leonard's shoulder and said bluntly, "Aren't you done yet?"

Leonard twisted around to see who Jim was talking to and, upon seeing Pike, cursed.

"Just savoring the... coffee," the man watching them answered. The corners of his mouth were still curved.

Leonard leaned toward Jim and whispered furiously, "What's Mister KGB doing here?"

Jim clapped a hand over his mouth. "Bones," he said, swallowing down a hiccup of laughter, "he isn't Russian."

"I bet he thinks he is, with his goons and his guns. Been steeping his code of honor in a bottle of vodka, it's so sour."

"I heard that," the captain from the local precinct said as he walked over to a trash can and threw away his cup.

"And?" McCoy countered, lifting an eyebrow.

"I don't know whether to be impressed or appalled at your feeble sense of survival, Mr. McCoy."

"Go walk a plank."

Pike remarked to Jim, approaching their table, "He's almost as annoying as you are."

"Why do you think I like him?"

"If that is supposed to comfort me, it doesn't." Leonard suddenly had Pike's full attention. "We should talk."

Jim pushed back from the table. "You really shouldn't. Bones is a poor conversationalist before 8 am."

"What he said," Leonard agreed, hunkered over his cup.

A hard glint came into Pike's eyes. Jim wrapped his fingers around the top of the chair and leaned his weight forward like he was using it for support. Looks could be deceiving; the chair was a weapon and Jim was fully prepared to use it as such. Pike smiled at him in a way that meant he knew this. From what Jim could see—and had noted carefully—Pike was not armed. Not with a gun and bullets, anyway. Jim was certain the man still had an effective method of attack.

"If y'all are done taking each other's measure and respectively plotting death," Leonard said, "somebody needs to help that poor lady at the counter. It ain't gonna be me. I need to find Spock." Leonard left.

Jim helped the customer. He blamed Pike that he hadn't noticed her arrival. Even while he helped her choose a beverage from their menu and politely answered questions about calories and sugar content, he was painfully aware of Pike's every movement. This did not seem to bother Pike, who took his time in patting his pockets and locating a set of car keys; then Pike spared one significant look at the motionless kitchen door before he strode for the exit. Friendly and congenial, the man held the door open for a couple in a hurry.

Jim hoped he never saw Pike again. He knew he would be wrong.

* * *

Leonard didn't bother to knock. He walked into Spock's tiny office, temper warmed up but not quite hot, with the beginnings of an accusation flying out of his mouth: "What the hell's the matter with you?"

Spock paused, a pen poised over whatever he had been writing, voice equable. "Hello, Leonard."

Leonard planted his hands on the edge of Spock's desk. "It's a damn good thing I came in this mornin'! How long were you planning to let Pike needle at Jim?"

Spock dropped his pen in alarm as he rose from behind his desk. "Captain Pike is here?"

Leonard waved him back into his seat, somewhat mollified by Spock's reaction. "He'll be gone by now. I said I was coming back here to find you, and he's not stupid. He'd have gotten the message."

This news only served to upset Spock further. "I did not know. I—_Jim_." He left his chair again, this time ignoring Leonard's assurances.

Leonard shifted to block the door. "Spock, wait a minute."

"Leonard," Spock warned him, "you must move," only to immediately soften his tone. "Allow me to check on him. If all is well, I will return shortly."

He caved because he understood the fear Spock was fighting not to show, and relocated to the edge of the desk to prop a hip and wait. True to his word, Spock returned in short order, the tense line of his shoulders more relaxed than they had been moments ago.

"I assume there was no blood or bodies on the floor."

"You were correct. Christopher Pike is gone."

"Did you doubt me?"

Something passed across Spock's face.

Leonard took pity on him. "I know," he said, pushing away from the desk to put his hand on Spock's arm. "You had to see for yourself. I was just teasing." Spock drew him closer, and Leonard let him.

"I made a mistake," the man said, regret tightening his voice. "I refused Jim's apology this morning."

"So that's why you were hiding in here," Leonard murmured. "Spock, I thought we talked what happened. He didn't mean what he said."

Spock's shoulders lowered by one inch; the act was an equivalent to hanging his head.

"Look, you're only human, and it's your first crash-course in Kirkian Defense Mechanisms, 101."

"You have known Jim less than six months. I have known him two years, four months, and sixteen days. How is it possible that your understanding of him is more comprehensive than mine?"

"Well, I was going to say we've both known him long enough, and who's counting? But apparently you are."

"You did not answer my question."

"'Cause it's an obvious answer."

"I disagree."

Spock could look nonplussed when he wanted to. Leonard figured it might hurt Spock's ego if he mentioned how adorable the expression was. So he settled for explaining. "How many relationships have you had?" He added quickly, "And anything familial doesn't count!"

Spock blinked. "Do business relationships count?"

"Nope."

He took Spock's ensuing silence to be a _none_. "Well, I guess it's safe to say I've got more experience than you. So Jim's hullabulooing? Technically it ain't nothing new to me."

"What is hullabulooing?" "It's a thing. Like a conniption fit."

"What is a conniption fit?"

"Spock, can we stay on track here?" Leonard begged. "I'm saying I get Jim's reaction. One time Jocelyn and I got into this fight about who had left the cap off the toothpaste. It didn't end pretty."

"That... does not seem to correlate to our circumstances."

"If you'd been there and heard the awful things we said to each other... yeah, it does."

Spock asked at length, "How did you reconcile?"

"She did some crying, I did some groveling. We both agreed we shouldn't have lost our tempers, and that it was very important no one left the cap off the toothpaste again. And, uh," Leonard squirmed at a memory, "there was make-up sex."

With an interested tilt to his head, Spock asked, "Shall make-up sex be part of our resolution?"

"Only if somebody proposes it." Leonard pulled away from Spock, not certain why he was so embarrassed. "Why don't we talk to Jim first?"

"Jim may not wish to speak to me."

"Pretty sure he's out there moping, Spock."

"Is this more extrapolation based upon your previous relationship experiences?"

"No. It's purely my version of wishful thinking."

Spock leaned in and captured Leonard's chin. "Then I accept your logic."

Leonard let himself enjoy the kiss before he pulled back. "When you start kissing Jim like this, I'm going to be very jealous."

"I shall endeavor to display my affection in equal ratio. Although, at present," Spock's eyes were very warm, "the balance is in your favor."

Tucking away his pleasure upon hearing that, Leonard reached around Spock to open the door. "Let's see what we can do to fix that then."

* * *

He could make foam hearts, his initials and something that looked suspiciously like a wookie in a snit. "Whoa, I'm pretty good at this!" Jim congratulated himself. Were there classes for baristas which cultivated this kind of skill? He could become famous! ...Though maybe fame wasn't a viable option until he could draw De Niro's face in cappuccino swirls.

Jim Kirk was always game for a new challenge; it was pretty much the only way he kept his too-intelligent brain from dying of boredom. Pushing the espresso to the side, its foam having sadly gone flat, Jim reached for another empty cup on the dish rack.

"Jim."

The voice froze Jim where he stood. Jim quickly retracted his hands into a seemingly innocuous position (at his sides) and widened his eyes. "I'm not doing anything."

Leonard poked his head around the tall form of Spock to eye a perfectly straight row of ten coffee cups along the counter. "Somehow I doubt that."

"I'm going to drink these!"

"Clearly," Spock said, "or you would be wasting product and, therefore, reducing the per capita of our sales and your credibility as an employee."

Leonard looked too gleeful. "Yes! I get to be employee of the month!" Then McCoy narrowed his eyes. Jim, realizing what this meant, braced for action. Seconds later, they both dived for the same cupboard with a yell. Jim came out the victor (possibly by head-butting McCoy) and grinned like a mad man with a picture frame clutched to his chest.

"Sorry, Bones," he said cheekily, "but I'll _always _be Spock's best employee."

Spock opened his mouth to speak.

"Fuck you, Jim!" Leonard snarled, grabbing for the frame. "You leave water spots on the dishes!"

"You sweep like a monkey on crack!"

McCoy made an incensed noise. "At least I'm not scared of the women's bathroom! Gimme that!"

"Do you know what they put in the trash, Bones?" Jim gasped, hunching over his prized possession and backing away. "I do the best I can with the phobias I have, okay?"

Leonard rounded on Spock. "It's not fair that he gets to be Employee of the Month all the time! I want my chance too!"

"Tell him I'm better!" Jim demanded of his boss.

Spock's head swiveled between them in a bemused fashion. "There is no employee of the month award."

"Don't you dare—wait, what?"

_Uh oh._Jim edged a little farther away from them.

Spock shifted so he could address Leonard face-to-face. "Until your arrival, there has been only one employee. Why would I designate an award if there is no other individual to which Jim's performance can be compared?"

"Then how come he has a...?" The sentence trailed off into silence. Leonard looked long and hard at the source of all his aggravations. "_Jim_."

Spock echoed, "Jim?" His eyes fell to the picture frame in Jim's protective grasp. "Would you turn the object around, please?"

Jim supposed Spock had to find out sooner or later so he flipped it around and grinned sheepishly. After a moment of silence, he said, "It's a good picture of me, right?"

Spock blinked. "Where did you acquire that certificate?"

Jim glanced at the headshot of him holding up an official-looking 'Employee of the Month' certificate, complete with Spock's shop logo, and felt ridiculously pleased. "I made it."

"Oh god," Leonard murmured, covering his eyes with a hand. "You faked your own award."

Jim shrugged. "It's as easy as making a fake ID."

"Please do not continue that comparison, Jim," Spock requested of him in a tone of voice which implied he would rather not know of his employees' illegal pastimes.

Suddenly Leonard started laughing.

"Bones?"

"I-I can't believe I bought that! You did it so you could impress me, didn't you? Back when. I should have known it was part of your—" Leonard wiped at his eyes and made a sweeping gesture at Jim. "—master plan to get into my pants."

Indignant at the accusation, Jim retorted, "Not everything is about you, Bones." He slid over to the cupboard and returned the evidence of his nonexistent award to its proper place. "I wanted to be Employee of the Month, so I was." Of course, though he hadn't made the thing for the sake of seducing McCoy, he had used it shamelessly as a form of persuasion. Leonard was right about that part.

Jim sighed. He tried hard, most of the time, not to remember most things about him are lies.

Spock was looking at him in a weird way. Self-conscious about the scrutiny, Jim began to methodically empty the cooled cups of coffee into the sink. "Since Bones is here, would it be a big deal if he runs the shop for a while?"

"I can do that," McCoy agreed.

"I did not notice any irregularities on the calendar. Do you need time off today?" Spock asked.

Why was Bones poking Spock in the side with his elbow? Jim had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer to that question. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and said, "Sorry it's so last minute. I have an errand I need to run before lunch." Another lie, of course, but he hoped they wouldn't call him on it.

"Jim, wait."

Jim cringed inwardly as he faced Bones. "What's up?"

"_Spock_," Leonard stressed, "has something he wants to say" and prompted Spock again with his elbow.

"Leonard is correct. Jim, I apologize for my rudeness this morning."

"I deserved it."

Spock took a tentative step in his direction. "You did not deserve it, Jim. My behavior was regrettable. I have no excuse…"

"Don't," Jim said, lifting a hand to halt him. "I accept your apology. Can you accept mine?"

"Yes."

"Then we're okay, Spock. Let it go."

Yet Spock took another step in his direction then one more. Jim consciously chose to remain still as Spock came toward him; he had to suppress a shudder when Spock lowered his voice and said, "Jim, I am concerned for you. Are you well?"

"I already told Bones I was."

Spock was, on occasion, infinitely more intimidating than Bones. While he was known to have an exceptionally refined sense of personal space, the concept had somehow become vague to Spock in the last few weeks. Jim never knew what to think of the way Spock touched him in moments like this. Should he lean into it like he wanted to? Should he err on the side of caution so he wouldn't seem like he was asking for too much? Jim's indecision over what to do was the reason he always stood stock-still rather than moved, neither encouraging the contact nor spurning it.

Eventually (it felt like forever to Jim, though technically it was less than a minute) Spock removed his hand from Jim's neck.

"Tell me," Spock said.

Jim drew in an unsteady breath. "Tell you what?"

"Tell me you slept peacefully when you were not with us."

The confession was automatic, like it had been waiting for a very long time to be said. "I can't. I didn't. It was..." How to describe the horror of it? "...lonely."

Leonard was there all of a sudden, at Spock's shoulder. When he had slipped in beside them, Jim could not recall.

"We missed you too, kid." But Bones flicked an uneasy glance at Spock. "Okay, so he doesn't sleep at home but we know it isn't any better for him with us." He sounded as though he hoped someone had an explanation or some wise advice.

If Jim sounded like he was begging, it couldn't be helped. "Let me come back? I'll take the lesser of two evils."

Spock responded "It was you who left" at the same time Leonard asked, "Is how that you think of us?"

"I know—I mean, no!" Jim tried to answer them both. He backed up until the counter pressed into his spine. With room to lift his arms, he started to shove his fingers through his hair, only to realize the movement would alert them to his nervous state. "I want this," he said, letting his hands hang in loose fists at his sides. "I want us."

"I believe you, Jim. I just can't reconcile the things you do that say otherwise."

Spock gave a slight nod to show his agreement with Leonard.

"I can't help it!" he almost cried, only to bite back the words. He tried promising instead, "I'll do better."

"It is not a matter of you committing a wrongful act," Spock explained with a calm Jim imagined must be impossible to have in the moment. "We simply want to understand why you shy from us. In order to help you, it becomes necessary."

There was a faintly bitter taste at the back of Jim's throat. "Why am I the one holding this thing back?" Struggling to hold back the anger that had unwittingly leeched into his voice, Jim focused on McCoy. "Who cured you? Spock and I had to beg you to consider giving this a chance, Bones. You can't lose your baggage on a whim!" _Not unless you never truly had any to begin with and you were playing with us. _That was an allegation Jim couldn't back up, however.

His hands weren't shaking; they weren't. The tremors meant nothing.

It would have been easier if Leonard rose to the bait, slapped accusations back at him, but Leonard didn't. Instead he looked vaguely guilty. "I talked about it."

"Not with me," Jim pointed out, pained. "But I'm too messed up to be trusted to help. Isn't that right?"

"That's—Jim, no, that's not why I told Spock instead of you." Abruptly Leonard looked frightened, maybe a little desperate. "Sorry, I'm shit at words. I meant, why I told Spock _before_you."

Jim saw an opening and took a vicious stab. "Ever heard of too little, too late, Bones?"

"_Jim_."

Jim closed his eyes at Spock's reproach. "We're back here again. Fuck." He opened his eyes and let them see the quiet desolation he felt. "I think he was right," Jim said to Spock. "This isn't going to work after all."

"It will work!" Leonard said with surprising ferocity. "I was damned idiot to say that!"

"Bones, I want to give us the benefit of the doubt more than the both of you combined, but we keep arguing. Hurting each other. It's stupid!"

"Then _stop arguing_," Bones snapped. "Start saying things like 'I want your help' or 'I trust you'!" "But I don't!" shouted Jim. Following the echo of that, if Jim hadn't been pressed against the counter, he would have staggered.

Leonard, in fact, did. It was only Spock's stalwart nature to weather the roughest of storms—and revelations—that keep McCoy upright. Jim's throat ached when Leonard physically leaned against Spock's arm for support.

Spock had kept his silence while Jim attacked Leonard and Leonard pushed back. Now he spoke, not sounding hurt or angry, simply sad. "Jim," he said, "I trust you. I trusted you before I loved you. If our relationship fails, my trust in you will not change."

This time Jim drove his fingers into his hair without hesitation. What was he supposed to say? Why hadn't Spock told him he was a fool for his distrust when they hadn't hurt him?

It was the truth Jim retaliated with because there was nothing else strong enough to make his point. "You can't tell me that. It's not fair. If we _fail_, Spock, I know I won't trust you. I probably won't trust anyone ever again," he said bitterly. "I'm tired of...of wanting people, just, of wanting things everybody else wouldn't think twice about because, hey, their lives are fucking _normal_, and instead getting nothing and no one for my trouble. So you tell me," he ended, jaw working with emotion, "how this plays out. Give me a guarantee I won't get shoved out on my ass in six months because you can't handle all of the shit that comes with me."

"You're the one said nothing in life is guaranteed, Jim," Leonard reminded him, except oddly no anger colored his voice.

"I don't care," Jim told them both, words flat. "I can't do this without one." He loosed a breath, realizing he needed to breathe, that he could breathe again even though his heart was heavy. "For that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I started this."

His will to fight had peppered out by the end. So when Spock closed the distance between them, Jim had no energy to retreat.

"I am the one who set the events in motion," Spock told him, "and I must see them to their conclusion."

"Spock," Jim whispered, drained, "you don't have to—"

"Shut up, Jim," McCoy intervened.

Spock glanced at Leonard, fondness apparent in his features. Jim's stomach clenched at the sight. Then Spock returned his attention to Jim and said, as sincere as the day Jim had asked for a job, "I give you your guarantee, Jim. Until the day you ask me to leave or you leave me, we will be together."

Jim's eyes stung. "Why? Why would you say that?"

"I love you. It is not a difficult promise to make." Spock looked to McCoy. "Shall I offer you the same?"

"I'll take it on faith," Leonard said, smiling and slipping his hand into Spock's.

Jim's facade was cracking and he knew it. He pushed gently at Spock's shoulders so he could have room to move, saying, "Okay, okay, I need to—my errand," he finished lamely.

"This isn't you running away, is it?" Leonard asked, eyeing him warily.

"No," Jim said and felt surprised that he wasn't lying. "I think I need to... pack. And move my things into Spock's house."

Spock looked pleased. "You have a key."

He did. That was the ironic thing about it all; despite the dire predictions and inner turmoil, he hadn't given the key back to Spock. Truthfully, he had had no intention of giving the key back because he thought he might need it when...

When he needed somewhere safe to go. That was trust... wasn't it? "I will be back by lunch. Okay?"

"Okay," two voices answered. Leonard frowned immediately, given that he had been one of those voices and Spock had not.

"Okay," a feminine voice repeated.

They turned as one to find at a stranger standing by the register. The woman wrenched another napkin out of a dispenser and dabbed at her eyes. "That was really lovely," she said, lowering her napkin dispenser since she had their attention. "I didn't want to interrupt, but would it be all right if I have a coffee now?"

Jim, ever the opportunist, took that as his cue to flee into the kitchen. If anyone heard him laughing, they would have assumed it was from amusement. Sadly, the laughter was quite hysterical.


	27. Part Twenty Seven

Kirk's mind was so tangled he didn't know where to begin to unravel it.

For Jim, helping Bones had been a priority since the beginning. He couldn't stand to see someone who was essentially decent at heart live as a shadow of himself. It just seemed wrong. Jim had, since one of the first days of knowing Leonard, made plans for interference, albeit in a uniquely Jim Kirk sort of way. It meant being involved with the man, if only as a friend; when that happened, though, it didn't come about as he had anticipated. Fate (with a little insistence from Jim) had brought Leonard into Jim's life on a nearly daily basis; in this sense Jim was as close as he might ever get to the man. Yet, inexplicably, the means to achieve his goal grew more elusive, until one day the goal itself became unnecessary.

Mostly, Jim mused, that was not his fault. It was Spock's.

With a disturbingly natural ease, Spock took on the role Jim had imagined for himself. It was Spock who connected with McCoy, who became the confidante, and who helped to free Bones from personal torment. Jim wished rather selfishly he had been at the heart of those events. Certainly he had been their instigator... hadn't he?

It was amazing how, even in this small way, Jim managed to alienate himself. He liked to blame others for not returning his overtures at companionship, but in truth Jim began to wonder if, given that he was the common factor in every failure and deep disappointment since childhood, he was also his own saboteur.

Other _if_'s bombarded him then: if he hadn't noticed the latent chemistry between Leonard and Spock; if he hadn't made the decision to back off; if he had been more willing to share himself rather than doggedly focused on anything but.

"If if if," Jim muttered under his breath as he shoved a last t-shirt into a backpack and zipped it shut. He sat back on his haunches, inspected the now-empty closet and said, "_If _Spock hadn't promised. Shit." He rubbed his forehead. "What am I doing?"

But Jim knew.

A promise from Spock was like a promise from a holy saint. Maybe Spock skirted around the truth sometimes, but he didn't outright lie. He wouldn't lie to Jim. Jim believed that, had to believe it with unshakable certainty.

Was it such a big deal that Jim turned out to be so desperate? Would, someday, Spock resent Jim because he had a difficulty accepting affection yet craved it more than anything in the world?

_I think I'm broken_, he thought not for the first time in his life, only to realize: _I'm going to do this anyway_.

Maybe his luck would hold out, and his choice would lead him to a happy beginning rather than a miserable end. Maybe.

Jim slipped the backpack onto his shoulder. The backpack contained the majority of his possessions, those which were secondary in need to what he always carried inside his duffle bag. He hoisted the duffle bag by its handle over his opposite shoulder, stood, and left his apartment.

He didn't get farther than two blocks from his building before the hairs at the back of his neck rose with the sensation of being watched. He slowed, turned casually as if to check a street sign, and spotted a black SUV creeping down the street. Jim resumed walking. The vehicle was still tailing him by the next block.

Jim's eyes cut to a side alley up ahead; he recalled a mental map of the area and, in a span of seconds, had plotted an escape route. He counted his steps, spying a group of teenage kids coming his way, and made his break for the alley in the same moment they passed by. The gunning of an engine reverberated through the narrow passageway, as if following him.

Jim broke into a cold sweat, swung his duffle bag over a half-rotten fence at the end of the alley before jumping it himself. He landed on his feet, snagged the bag, and kept going. A series of short alleyways and abandoned lots later he was in an old residential area about half of a mile south from where he had been. As he eased onto the deserted street, it took only a handful of seconds for Jim to realize he made a serious mistake by assuming no one was tracking his movements. A black SUV of the same model and make as before turned onto the end of the street.

Jim dashed around the corner of an empty warehouse, prepared for a full-out chase. Another SUV, gleaming silver, braked to a screeching stop at the street curb just ahead of him. The passenger window was down and the driver shouted at Jim, "Get in!"

How weird, Jim would muse later, that when he heard the commanding tone, it was like his brain was hard-wired to obey. At present, Jim would tell himself he had no better choice than to trust Pike not to get him killed. He scrambled into Pike's car with a breathless "What the fuck is going on!"

"Seatbelt," Pike snapped and threw his car into reverse.

Jim's fingers fumbled at the seatbelt clasp. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded again. Civilians didn't regularly get chased down through town, or so he thought. Pike did not reply and broke every speeding limit, which kind of awed a wide-eyed Jim, until they took a ninety-degree turn nearly on two wheels. Then Jim was just plain terrified. "Fuck, Chris! I don't want to die in a car crash!"

Pike, the insane man, still used his turn signal as he swerved in front of someone at seventy miles an hour. "I'm taking you to the bus terminal." For some reason, Pike refused to look at him.

Something unexplainable lodged in Jim's throat. His duffle bag suddenly felt heavy in his lap. "I'm... leaving?"

"Unless you want to die," Pike snapped at him. "He's found you."

Jim dug his fingers into the rough, stained fabric of the bag. "How?"

Pike hesitated, said, "There was a leak in the department."

Jim dropped his head back against the seat and cursed. "I can't leave!"

"Your bags are packed," Pike observed, gaze finally sliding over to take in Kirk.

"That's not what—" Jim loosed his grip on the duffle bag. "I planned to go to Spock's."

"Plans change, son."

A protest formed but he kept silent, logic warring with emotion. Pike turned onto a highway, driving more slowly now.

This couldn't be happening. Not now. Who would tell Bones and Spock?

"I can pass a message on," Pike said, like he had plucked Jim's question out of the air. "If," the older man added, "I can get it to them."

Jim's stomach dropped with a brand new kind of terror as he deciphered what Pike said. "Go back!"

Pike didn't turn the car around.

"_I said go back!_" Jim tore off his seatbelt, panic whipping through his veins, and tried for the door handle. The door didn't budge. He popped the lock. A hard grip caught Jim's arm before he could literally throw himself into the wind.

"What the hell—" Pike half-shouted, half-gasped. "You fool, what are you doing!"

"Let go of me," Jim said, low and deadly, and tried to break free of Pike's hold.

Pike swerved to the side of the road in a spray of gravel, the open door swinging wildly back and forth with the momentum. They both automatically jerked forward in their seats at the abrupt halt of the car.

Pike turned on him, looking livid. "You don't fucking jump out of a fucking moving car, Jim!"

"I told you to go back!"

"I'm not taking you back."

"He knows about the shop," Jim said over the harsh pounding in his ears. "That's what you meant: _if you can get it to them._"

"So what?" Pike's eyes bored into him, daring him in some way. "You go back, you die. Is your life that worthless to you?"

"No one dies for me, and _no one_," Jim concluded fiercely, "touches them. Ever."

Pike's grip eased on his arm. "So you're a hero now?" Strangely, the question was too mild to be condescending.

"No, but I'm not a coward." Jim's patience had been limited to begin with; now it was at its end. "Are we going back, or do I have to walk?"

Pike faced the steering wheel and laid his hands on it. He made no move, however, to pull onto the highway again. "Hm," he said.

Screw Pike; the asshole could do the walking. Jim was devising a plan to steal the vehicle when Pike reached down and removed the key from the ignition. Jim slammed the heel of his hand into the dashboard, spit out some uncomplimentary things about Pike and his ancestors, and kicked at the half-open passenger door.

"I lied. He's in jail," Pike said when Jim had a leg out of the car. "A partner turned state's evidence against him and he was convicted to a ten-year sentence a year and a half ago."

The world slowed down. Jim's adrenaline rush abandoned him all of a sudden. He floundered under the news. "What?" Pike was watching him when he turned around, fighting to respond properly. "But the car…?"

"Buddy of mine." Pike's mouth quirked at one end. "Surprise."

Jim vacillated between shocked and angry and finally settled on angry.

"Don't bother trying to hit me," Pike warned him. "There's a can of mace in my pocket." He exposed the top of the canister for Jim to see. "Now, do you want to hear the rest?"

"What?" Jim snarled. "That you're a fuckin' lunatic? Is this some kind of sick mind-game?"

"Cut the histrionics." Pike tilted his head to the side and observed Jim. "You know, when I let you go almost three years ago, I thought this city couldn't possibly hold you." Pike snorted. "Yet I come to find out you stayed. In fact, you holed up in some dinky, hipster coffee shop for _two _years."

"How shocking it must have been," Jim mocked, "to find out you can be wrong."

Pike countered with a jab of his own. "Settling down—that's an unusual thing for you, isn't it, Kirk?"

"Get to the point."

"The point is I wanted to know what changed you. Now I think I do."

Pike put the key back in the ignition and started the car. Jim hesitated for a second before shutting the passenger door and buckling himself in again. Pike was, like always, confusing him rather badly. The SUV eased onto the road, made U-turn, and Pike drove them back toward the city.

"I have some advice for you, son."

It took effort but Jim managed to bite his tongue.

Pike snorted softly at his silence. "Only a little while ago you were making a lot of mistakes, Jim, and as somebody who's made as many—if not more—mistakes, I think it's time you got your head on straight."

"You're not my father," Jim said, feeling childish, and wow this conversation was very déjà-vu like.

"You don't have a father," Pike said bluntly. "You won't ever have a father so take what you can get when it's offered."

Jim deadpanned, "From a bitter old man. That sounds great."

"My point exactly. Don't be like me. Make smart choices. You're already halfway there, Jim. My number one priority has always been myself. I've got a wall of commendations, a fat bank account, and a mayor at my beck-and-call... but nothing else. Nothing that matters and I can't trust what I do have."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to do better."

Jim looked at him. "That doesn't explain anything." He only prodded for more answers because he was marginally curious now. Pike didn't seem like a man who shared his feelings often.

Pike caught his eyes and held them for a second before watching the road again. "I'm telling you that this reprieve, this good thing you've found for yourself…? It's not going to last. Someday all the shit you're used to is going to come back. Somebody's going to let that motherfucker out of prison. We don't have time on our side. We never did. _So don't waste it_."

Jim swallowed down a surge of emotion and replied as evenly as he could, "I won't. I'm going to Spock's."

"That's a smart choice." Pike released a long breath which ended in a sigh. "Make it worth it."

Arms folded, Jim silently let the minutes pass while he watched scenery go by. He would have kept silent until the ride was over but a thought nagged at him constantly. He must have imagined the strain in his voice when he asked, "Are you giving up on me?"

Pike responded slowly, as though he was reluctant to admit the truth. "Not giving up. I'm letting you go. For now."

Jim studied the profile of a man who he thought he would never trust and suddenly understood what Pike wasn't saying. "You think I'll work for you."

Pike nodded. "Yes, I do."

Jim finished for him, "When my past comes back to fuck with my life."

"When you realize I'm your ally, not your enemy," Pike clarified.

Jim sunk into his seat and closed his eyes. "It's your fault if you end up waiting forever, Sir."

Jim could hear the smile in Pike's reply. "Maybe."

* * *

At Kirk's insistence, Pike went no farther than the outskirts of Spock's neighborhood. By then the boy was back to his usual self, though he seemed exhausted. (Chris, being the bastard he was, felt no guilt over that.) Since Pike knew a play at concern wasn't welcome and they weren't on good terms, he left Kirk to make his own way to his destination. This wouldn't be the last time they saw each other, he knew.

After checking his watch with smidgen of smugness that he had timed everything so seamlessly, Pike drove through the center of town and to the west, finally pulling his SUV into a small parking lot adjacent to a clean-kept park. He stalled there and sat watching the families come and go, dogs running after balls, kids running after the dogs. Across the grassy lawn, the person he was waiting for approached the SUV. He unlocked the doors. The young woman slid into the passenger seat, dropping her purse on the floorboard as she leaned across the gear shift to hug him.

"Uncle Chris!" Her cheeks dimpled. "The sun finally came out! Isn't it lovely?"

"Hey there, doll," he said fondly, tweaking a strand of her hair. "Still can't say I like your haircut."

His niece sniffed in mock affront and fluffed her hair. "It's chic. You just don't like change."

"I'll admit I'm set in my ways, but I am fairly certain you didn't have to cut it to impress that boyfriend of yours." Pike narrowed his eyes and skimmed the park. "Where is he?"

"He had a school project to work on."

Pike's mouth twitched. "You mean he's still afraid of me."

"He'll come to lunch next time," she promised.

Wisely Pike said nothing because it was a miracle in itself he had met the guy, given that she hadn't let him meet any of her other boyfriends in the past. Then again, she planned to marry this one. The girl must have realized she couldn't prevent the meeting of uncle and husband forever. He turned the key in the ignition. "Where to?" He didn't have to look at his niece to know her eyes were suddenly twinkling. It was a trait she'd inherited from his sister, that mischievous streak.

"I'm not terribly hungry. How about a cup of coffee?"

"Jocelyn..." Christopher warned in the no-nonsense tone he used on prank-playing rookies. Sadly, it seemed to have no effect on her. He shouldn't have been surprised.

She laughed. "You know you want to!"

"I really don't," he responded dryly.

Jocelyn was much too observant for her own good (this was a trait he proudly accredited to himself). She gasped and smacked her hand on the dashboard, exclaiming, "Uncle Chris! You went to the cafe, didn't you!"

"Are you going to tell me you haven't?"

"I have every right to do as I please. Besides, my friend works there."

He simply looked at her until she put on her seatbelt with a roll of her eyes. Then he edged into traffic and headed to a restaurant he knew she liked. Pike let a minute or so of silence stretch between them before he spoke again. "I don't think Kirk's going anywhere."

"He'd better not," Jocelyn said promptly. "I will hunt his ass down and drag him back by the ears." She slyly cut her eyes at her uncle. "I have the resources to do that, don't I?"

"That would be an abuse of my power, doll."

"So yes?"

He barked out a laugh and reached over to ruffle her hair. Jocelyn slapped at the air with a squeal, narrowly missing his hand, and spent the next minute fixing her hair in the mirror and cursing a blue streak at him. "Don't _do _that," she fussed. "I'm not a boy!"

"You certainly don't look like one," he agreed amiably.

She sat back and took several sidelong glances at him while he drove. "Have you talked to Mom?"

"Not for a while." When he was younger, he would have been defensive about that, and angry. Years and distance from his sister and her family, with the exception of Jocelyn in the last couple of years, had served to harden his feelings over their estrangement. He no longer harbored the illusion he would be welcomed into his sister's life again. It was only through Jocelyn's stubbornness that he had any connection to that part of his past at all.

He couldn't say he regretted it, or her.

Jocelyn gave a quiet, understanding "Oh" and they spoke no more of the painful subject.

He slowed the car to a full stop at a red light. Figuring he had to sacrifice a little dignity for the sake of improving his niece's mood, he remarked, "If it wasn't for sheer dumb luck—" And by that, he meant McCoy's dumb luck to give Jocelyn's name as his emergency contact on his paperwork. "—I would have never known McCoy knew you." How that had raised all kinds of alarms when he had seen her name. That, more than Jim's accompanying scrawl on the arrest form, had been the reason he removed the two idiots from Holding and let them go.

Jocelyn stopped biting down on her bottom lip and perked up. "Did you run a background check on him?"

His mouth curved. "Yes." And raided McCoy's apartment, but she didn't need those details. The least Jocelyn knew about her uncle's methods of investigation (and his cold-blooded desire to eliminate any potential threats to his beloved niece), the better—for all of them. "Let's just say it's a good thing you never introduced us when you moved up here."

Her confused expression was cute. Nevertheless, Pike did not intend to enlighten her to his real meaning. He gave his full attention to parallel parking along the street and unclipped his seatbelt once they were safely parked. He pointed out, "You know we'll have to tell them sometime."

"I know," Jocelyn said. Her face was the happiest he had seen it. She bounced slightly with excitement, as she used to do when he let her sit on his shoulders to reach the lowest hanging apples from the apple tree in her family's backyard. Pike cherished what few memories he had of those times. How she'd grown since then; how much he had missed.

"Uncle Chris, I have a brilliant plan!"

Pike loosed a long-suffering sigh. If Jocelyn hadn't succeeded in wrapping him around her little finger when she was an adorable baby, he would have dumped her out of the car and sped away to preserve his sanity. "Does this brilliant plan require me to arrest anyone?"

She lifted her chin and stated quite primly, "It would be rude to arrest invited guests to Thanksgiving dinner."

So he couldn't arrest Clay. That was very disappointing. Well, the Treadway boy would likely have a heart attack at the sight of handcuffs anyway.

Jocelyn was still talking. "There's no way to break it gently, really, so we might as well minimize the shock as best we can."

Shock was a mild term for what would happen to Kirk, Spock, and McCoy when they saw him in a button-down cardigan serving turkey. The image made him chuckle.

His niece paused thoughtfully. "I suppose I could warn Len he will finally get to meet my mysterious uncle. He always did complain about that around the holidays. He told me once the black sheep of the family are supposed to be the most interesting."

_You reap what you sow, McCoy_, Pike thought. He pocketed his keys and smiled. Jocelyn smiled back. "Isn't having me here the best thing in the world?" she asked, impish as ever as she shouldered her purse.

"It is," he said, meaning it. "And those who dare disagree," his smile widened, "deserve their ill fortune." He would see to that personally.

Jocelyn grinned. "Leonard thinks I get my temper from my mother."

That was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. They laughed, went into the restaurant, and laughed again.


	28. Part Twenty Eight

All was quiet. Leonard had left an oblivious Jim face-down on the bed and had waved goodbye to Spock, who was reading the morning paper in the kitchen, on his way outside. It was somewhat of a routine now in the early hours of Sunday that he journeyed to his apartment across town. Leonard knew he ought to make an official change, as Jim had, by moving those last important pieces of himself over to the house he shared with two people, but in his heart he didn't feel quite ready to let go of the vestiges of where and who he had been. So Leonard settled at his rickety writing desk, its collapse prevented by the stack of magazines under one leg, and observed the neighborhood through the cracked panes of his window. The view, strangely, was less dismal than he remembered. The building on the opposite side of the street, though still decrepit and playing host to many unsavory characters, was ringed by a scattering of wildflowers that peeked out from the concrete pavement. They softened the image of what was worn and abandoned, and reminded Leonard that time stayed still for no man.

He picked up his pencil and tapped it against a blank notebook page. The constant pressure to invoke words and build tales was mysteriously absent. Today felt lazy, like it should be less about writing and more about relaxation. Without thinking too hard on why, he began to sketch the scenery through the window. Despite his ordinary drawing ability, a picture took shape. It was a shame, Leonard thought, that he had only the charcoal shades of his pencil to capture the beautiful day.

He didn't realize how long he had been occupied until his stomach growled. Having skipped breakfast (Leonard nor his family had been particular about the meal unless it was a special occasion), he figured he ought to make himself a sandwich. Venturing to the old refrigerator, he opened it—and grimaced. How it is the mold came back so fast? Just yesterday, it seemed, he had been on his knees scrubbing down the bulky applicance's interior with Lysol while Jocelyn "helpfully" coordinated his efforts.

Leonard shut the door and considered his options. He jingled a set of keys in his pocket and rocked back on his heels as he mulled. Coming to the conclusion that since this was _his _day, dedicated solely to his need for alone-time, he should go to that little Chinese restaurant a few streets over. His stomach agreed loudly. It had been a while since he had one of their deliciously crunchy egg rolls and suddenly he craved one.

Decided, Leonard left his apartment.

* * *

_Thump. Thump thump._

Spock lowered his paper. "Jim, is that action necessary?"

Jim, perched on the kitchen counter, stilled the swinging motion of his legs. He blinked sleepily at Spock over his bowl of cereal then gave the wooden door beneath his heels a blank look. ...And thumped his left heel against it one time. Jim went back to eating his cereal, saying, "It's half the fun of sitting up here, Spock."

Spock had his doubts about that. Then again Jim was, as Leonard had pointed out one morning while Jim did this very thing, still too much of a child at heart. He saw many things differently than Spock did. Usually Spock could appreciate the need for an alternate perspective.

But not today. The newspaper rattled in his hands as he turned a page. "Please desist."

_Thump._ "Are you giving me an order?" _Thump-thump. _"Because I think we both know how well I take orders."

"I am asking you to cease your abuse of my kitchen cabinet."

"What will you give me if I do?"

Spock considered the question for a moment. "What do you want?"

Jim dropped his empty bowl on the counter and jumped down, a devilish grin spreading across his face. Mildly alarmed now, Spock raised the newspaper to shield himself from Jim's view. His posture stiffened as he heard Jim circling the table. Maybe he should have said he did not negotiate. Leonard would have said that.

Hands landed on Spock's shoulders. Jim leaned down to whisper against his ear, "What do I want? I can think of several things I want right now."

Spock folded the paper along its crease-marks and set it down. Jim prevented his rise from the chair, however, by pressing down on his shoulders. Spock said, "You should dress for the day, Jim."

One of Jim's hands slid down his arm and plucked at his shirt sleeve. "You should get _undressed_."

Spock twisted around to look at Jim. "I have a schedule."

Jim was watching him through lowered lashes. "Didn't my secretary call your secretary? I need you to fit me in your schedule today, Spock."

A thought occurred to Spock. He cocked an eyebrow. "I doubt Leonard usually discusses matters with himself."

It took a moment for Spock's meaning to register. On Jim's face, confusion transformed into amusement. Jim grinned and released him. "Was that a joke?"

"It was an observation." Spock stood up.

"Wait until I tell Bones!"

_Must you, Jim? _It was probably pointless to ask. Spock tracked Jim's movements across the kitchen as he performed a mental check of the day's to-do list. His mind stuttered to a stop halfway through the list when he noticed the tail of Jim's shirt had ridden up at the waistband of his loose grey pants and exposed the soft skin of Jim's back. He heard his voice faintly, as if from a distance. "Your shirt... is un-tucked."

Jim scratched the back of his head without turning around, still focused on whatever he was doing to his cereal bowl in the sink.

"Jim."

Jim switched off the faucet and cocked his head to show he was listening. "Yes, Spock?"

A delay would not reduce his proposed productivity today, at least not from an efficiency standpoint. Spock carefully recalibrated the time he had allotted for lunch. "I believe my schedule has an opening."

Jim turned around to smile at him. The smile looked more like a smirk as he said, "I knew you'd see things my way." Kirk pulled down his shirt to cover the bare patch of skin as he approached Spock.

This, Spock decided, was why he needed Leonard. Jim had tricked him again. He would feel embarrassment, given how easily his lover had manipulated him, except he was otherwise occupied with Jim's mouth.

After a minute or so, Spock reminded himself softly as he changed the angle of the kiss, "One must first learn of sacrifice before learning of enlightenment."

Jim made a noise against his mouth that sounded like agreement. Then he reluctantly broke away and laid his cheek in the grove of Spock's shoulder and neck, his arms hugging Spock's body. "Later," Jim said, voice rough, "we find Bones."

"Yes," Spock replied, taking Jim's hand and leading him out of the kitchen. Later turned into after lunch.

* * *

More often than not Leonard forgot to check his mailbox. It was only when he spied a neighboring tenant riffling through letters as she exited the building that Leonard recalled he hadn't gotten his mail in over a week and a half. The affair was anti-climatic; the small rectangular mailbox that had been designated as his within a cubbyhole-like structure had all of four letters inside, stamped and post-dated. Two of them were credit card offers. Leonard snorted and pitched those into a nearby trash can. The last thing he needed was extra bills to pay.

Bemused, he looked over the third letter, a card of some sort in a bright yellow envelope with Jocelyn's address neatly printed on the back. As he shifted it aside and saw the last letter, his grip turned sweat-slick and he almost dropped what he was holding. Leonard recovered and worked his thumb under the seal, tearing through the flap.

_Dear Mr. McCoy, _the letter began.

As soon as he read the first sentence, a warm funny feeling spread throughout his chest. Leonard looked up, grinning lopsidedly, at the person muttering a polite _excuse me_ while squeezing by Leonard in the narrow hallway in order to get to the stairwell. The person turned to look back at him the second before entering the stairwell, no doubt disturbed by his almost visually luminescent glow of happiness. Because, truly, anyone who had to live in such a crappy old building could never be _that _happy.

Leonard smoothed out the crinkles his fingers had made along the letter's edge, went out to the street and beamed at the wildflowers on the sidewalk (who beamed back at him, bobbing their heads lazily) and shook the letter with a whoop at the sky. If he looked like a crazed fool to passersby Leonard thought nothing of the glances sent his way. He returned inside the building and fairly skipped to his apartment, his mood jovial. That mood did not diminish when, upon entering his apartment, he came upon visitors loitering around his writing desk.

"Hey, look at this!" Leonard called, striding over to Jim and Spock with the letter held out in an imperial gesture.

Jim took the letter. Leonard was too pre-occupied with his good fortune to notice Spock was holding Leonard's writing notebook in his hands.

"Wow, this is great, Bones!" Jim said as he read through a paragraph. Leonard waited an additional two agonizing seconds before stealing the letter from Jim and shoving it under Spock's nose.

"I assume this is your acceptance letter to resume your studies," Spock remarked without so much as looking it.

Leonard bounced on the balls of his feet in both excitement and agitation. "Well, read it and find out!"

With his back to Jim, Leonard could not see the man make a pointed motion at the letter. Spock stared at Kirk as if to say _your direction is unnecessary, and yes I do intend to do as he wishes. _He accepted the letter and began to read.

Half a minute later, Leonard exploded, "You don't have to read _all of it!_"

Spock ignored him.

Jim had flung an arm around Leonard's shoulders in the meantime and teased, "Are you sure you don't want to change your mind and use the insurance money to go to Malibu?"

"Some of us make smart life choices, kid."

"Funny, somebody tried to tell me about that once. I was too busy trying to jump out of a car to pay attention." When Leonard looked at him askance, Jim nudged Leonard with his hip. "Never mind. Spock's just annoyed that you weren't here when we arrived."

"Speaking of," Leonard complained, "what gives you the right to let yourselves in while I'm gone?"

"I don't know, Bones," Jim said slowly like he was humoring the man, "maybe because we sleep together?"

"Whatever."

Jim slid his hand across Leonard's shoulder blade and to the side of his neck. His hand rested there, warm, thumb stroking the skin just behind Leonard's ear. It was very hard not to react to the intimacy; Leonard thought he managed well, crossing his arms and settling a glare on Spock, who finally lowered the letter and offered his congratulations.

"Your enthusiasm rocks me to the soles of my feet, Spock," Leonard quipped.

"I fear I do not quite comprehend your metaphor."

He snorted. "_Stick in the mud._"

"Nor that one," Spock added mildly.

Jim caught Leonard's hand before he could express his sentiments succinctly with his middle finger. "Can we save this foreplay for the bedroom, gentlemen?"

Leonard narrowed his eyes at Jim. "Gentlemen? Why are you calling us gentlemen?"

Jim blinked and replied, "I don't know?"

"I must agree with Leonard. Gentleman is not an accurate description of him in the least."

Leonard snatched his precious letter out of Spock's hands with a snarl. "'N I suppose you think you're the epitome of manners and social niceties!"

Spock's eyebrow shot up. "I am surprised you know the definition of 'niceties'."

"Whoa, whoa," Jim said, trying to squeeze in between them when Leonard's eyes lit up at the challenge. "I'm really, really _hungry_," he whined at Spock. "Can we eat first?" He made a sad face and pointed at his belly, which rumbled on cue.

Leonard dropped the letter on his desk. "You haven't had lunch yet? It's almost two."

"We were hoping you'd want to grab a bite with us," Jim said.

"I already ate," Leonard said, "but since you came all the way over here to get me, I guess I can come along and keep you company."

"Great!"

Spock asked, "Are you certain? I tried to explain to Jim that you may not wish to have your... solitude interrupted today but he was insistent."

Leonard smiled fondly at the slight pout on Jim's face. "When isn't he insistent? It's fine, Spock."

Jim fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable, and admitted, "I missed you. Sorry."

Leonard understood even as he said, "You see me every day, Jim." He shared a look with Spock. Things were on the right track but the going was slow. Jim still had his moments where he tested them, not out of spite but out of insecurity. Like today, Jim simply wanted to be reassured Leonard hadn't wandered off with the intention of never coming back. That he, Jim, had not become boring to McCoy, or useless.

Sometimes it frustrated Leonard that Jim could think like that, but he tried his best to give Jim what he needed. The frustration he discussed with Jocelyn, or vented to rather, and she always brought him out of his black mood and explained his reaction—and Jim's—in a practical light. Leonard wondered if Spock suffered the same kind of frustration. If he did, did he simply wait it out or did he talk to someone as well?

For that matter, Leonard mused, what was it about him that frustrated Spock?

He almost asked, just to take one last playful poke at the man, but decided against it. Instead he grabbed Jim's shoulder, pulled him close, and dropped a kiss to his mouth.

"All right," he drawled, "where do y'all want to go to eat?"

Jim turned away to surreptitiously touch his mouth. "It's up to Spock." The tight line of his shoulders had relaxed. Leonard felt pleased.

Spock named a place. A grin stretched across Leonard's face. "That's perfect, Spock. Jim needs a salad today."

"What?" Jim said, alarmed.

Leonard shrugged innocently. "Hey, that was the deal. I stop smoking, you eat healthier."

Jim's mouth worked silently. Did he think they wouldn't take his rash promise seriously? Leonard shook his head in mock sadness. "What're we going to do with him?" he asked, shifting to stand shoulder to shoulder with Spock.

"Conform him," Spock answered promptly.

Jim muttered something to himself then announced, "I'll be in the car."

Leonard tried hard not to laugh as he watched Jim's stiff-legged walk to the door. Once Jim was gone, he unfolded his arms and sighed. "Sometimes I still think we're crazy for doing this."

"Do you regret it?" The question was softly spoken and non-judgmental.

"No." He faced Spock and studied his expression. "Do you?"

"Negative."

Spock said odd little things like that. Leonard had to wonder how he was brought up on occasion; mostly, Spock was just... _Spock_. Leonard liked him different.

Spock picked up the open notebook and gently closed it, staring the title Leonard had scrawled across the front cover. "Is the story complete?"

"Not yet. There are still some things I need to work out about the characters." He quirked his mouth. "I think they're starting to figure out what they want from each other, though."

The look he received was unreadable. Spock said, "I hope they are successful."

"Me too, Spock." He took the notebook and set it aside, placing his pencil on top of it. "C'mon. Jim won't have gone far. Bet he's loitering at the stairs."

Spock took Leonard's hand. "You will be correct." He hesitated, said, "Jim is not the only one who missed you."

Leonard squeezed the hand in his. "That's good to know, darlin'. 'Cause I missed you too. Today's just too pretty to waste alone."

* * *

_The day before Thanksgiving..._

"You made it!" Jocelyn said happily as she opened the door to her condo and smiled at the three men.

"Did we have a choice?" Leonard said in his gruff, grinning way.

He thought his gruffness was off-putting. Jocelyn had tried to explain to him once that it only made him more attractive. The silly man didn't believe her, but she would bet Jim and Spock knew exactly what she meant.

Jim leaned in front of Leonard and presented a carefully tin-foil wrapped package. "We made pie," he said.

A good kind of hurt filled her heart at the slightly shy way he said the words. Given what she knew about his past (which was just enough to paint an unpleasant picture), family holidays had probably never been spent with family—and certainly never with people who loved him. She hoped one day he might trust her enough to talk to her about it but for now she could settle for simply having his trust.

"Spock made the pie," Leonard interjected. "Jim got to choose what kind it was."

"And what did you do to help?" she asked, already guessing at the answer as she stepped aside to allow them into the small hallway entrance to her home.

"I stayed outta the kitchen so as to not cause the oven to spontaneously combust into flames."

"Apparently while Leonard can cook, he cannot bake. The results are unusually disastrous" was Spock's dry comment.

"Like a-tidal-wave-took-out-the-entire-coast kind of disastrous. We called the fire department once," Jim added.

Jocelyn snickered. "I know. Boy, do I know! Remind me to tell you about the time he tried to make bread. He didn't understand why the dry yeast came in little packets, 'cause surely that wasn't enough—"

"Joss!"

"—and so he used a _cup_'s worth. By the time we realized what he had done, his mother's kitchen looked like a scene out of _Ghostbusters_!" She shoved a fist against her mouth, quaking with laughter. "Her reaction—oh my god!"

Face flaming red, Leonard grabbed the nearest arm—which happened to be Jim's—and towed him into the condo. "Where's this uncle?" he demanded, no doubt desperate to change the subject before she thought of more embarrassing moments in his life. "And why the hell am I just now gettin' to meet him?"

"Bones, um—"

The voices turned the corner of the hallway. Jocelyn took Spock's coat but put out a hand to stall him from following his partners. She might need an ally, and while she loved Clay to death...

Spock, perhaps recognizing a hint of her apprehension, asked, "Is something the matter?"

"I'm glad you all could come," she said, "but about my uncle... You have met him already, though you don't know it, and Len may—"

A yell came from the kitchen. "WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING HERE?"

Spock's eyebrows flew up.

"—freak out," Jocelyn finished.

Something banged. Voices rose and fell, finally tapered into dead silence.

Spock looked at her. "I have known you to be very rational in your decisions, Jocelyn. I assume you are prepared should explanations be required." He paused before adding quietly, "You are aware of where I place my loyalty. This will never change."

Spock was forthright. She admired that about him. "I am. I only ask for a smidgen of trust."

He nodded.

Relieved, Jocelyn folded his coat over her arm and began to say, "Well, I should—"

Clay came hurrying past them. All he said was "Booze. In the car. We're going to need it."

Jocelyn thought this one time he was probably absolutely right. Though why was he stashing alcoholic beverages in his car? Maybe they needed to have a serious talk.

Spock closed the front door in Clay's wake. "Let us hope your fiancee is not genetically predisposed to alcoholism." Spock always seemed to encounter Clay when he was drunk or halfway to drunk.

She had thought her father's joke crude when he said once, at a family meal, living with her mother would drive any man to drink. Could he have been telling the truth? Did this... talent of her mother's become hers as well?

In that case, poor Clay! She should schedule a yearly appointment with his doctor to check his liver. This could be a point of discussion with his mother when they traveled to meet his family tomorrow and stay with them for the holiday weekend.

She sighed and kept her thoughts private for now. "Don't let Len get more than a third of the way through the whiskey before dinner. He'll puke at the table and then nobody will want the dinner I spent all morning making. Also," she sniffed, "I'll kill 'im if he misses and messes up my rug."

"Duly noted," Spock said.

"Well, time to face the music, as they say. It'll be okay," she said, mostly to assure herself. "After all, there have been too many coincidences to think we all came to know one another by chance."

She could tell he was curious about what she meant. "This," she made a vague gesture to encompass the meaning of everything and smiled, "is fate, my dear Mr. Spock."

He was about to reply when Leonard startled them, almost falling into the hallway, sputtering, "Joss—joke, please—_Uncle Chris?_" He slumped against the wall with a groan. She wondered idly what had happened to Jim. She had made certain to hide the kitchen knives and given her uncle strict instructions about not touching anything that could be remotely harmful to another person.

But she had forgotten about the fire extinguisher. Oh, that would terrible, by which she meant terribly funny. Unless, of course, they ruined her property.

Spock went to Leonard and manhandled him into a proper upright position. Leonard said something to him, and they abandoned their hostess with haste.

She decided then the men had enough sense to figure out what to do without her guidance (hadn't she been conditioning them to act more responsibly, after all?) and grabbed a set of keys from a side table. Clay would have a hard time getting into the car without the keys.

Jocelyn said firmly to Leonard's family, far removed from this world but who nevertheless must be paying attention his shenanigans, "We'll both keep lookin' out for him" and let herself out of the condo to find her errant boyfriend.

_-Fini_


End file.
